


Making Waves

by YunYunHakusho



Category: Worm - Wildbow
Genre: Alt-Power, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-10-07 16:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10364565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YunYunHakusho/pseuds/YunYunHakusho
Summary: In which Hero receives a different power from his vial, Danny dies, and Taylor gets powers at an earlier point than in canon.





	1. Origin 1.1

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Luolang, LacksCreativity and sahara.

_I didn’t think this through_.  
  
Five men circled around a sixth like a pack of hyenas. Even though the scene was barely-lit, one could see a certain consistency in the group’s choice of apparel. Jeans, work boots, and jackets to stave off the cool November air. That, and the red and black bandanas.  
  
It was the small details that set them apart, made the situation crystal clear. Like how the man in the middle was frozen still while the men around him moved with an excited energy, as if struggling to contain themselves. Or how his black skin contrasted from the pale white of the men around him.  
  
_Not ready at all._  
  
Their jeers and insults were loud enough that one could hear them from three floors above. One of the thugs holding a bat was a bit more enthusiastic than the rest. He poked a finger, none-too-gently, at the man’s chest repeatedly while the dark-skinned man tried to angle his body away.  
  
The lone man replied, hands up in a placating gesture. His voice too low to be heard from the rooftop, but whatever he said didn’t work. They started talking louder, growing more hostile by the second. One thug kicked the dumpster at the mouth of the alley, making the man jump. Three of them kept inching closer while he backed off, pushing himself back to the alley wall.  
  
_Fuck._  
  
One of them jumped him from the side, catching the man across the jaw with a bat. He crumpled to the ground, clutching at his face. It set all but two off like fireworks. He yelled as boots began to rain down on him. He, for his part, curled up into a ball, arms raised to his head defensively.  
  
_Fuck it_.  
  
She stepped off from the roof of the building and let herself drop. The wind whistled as she fell, her dark hair flapping around her. Her stomach knotted up to her throat, and it wasn’t just from the fall. She’d practiced this more than a few times before. But this wasn’t a test anymore. This was the real thing. Almost instinctively, she reached out to her side but stopped. She forced herself to look down, to plan out on how she was going to do this.  
  
Then, she saw where she was going to land.  
  
_Shit, shit, shit!_  
  
She tried to activate the magnetic burster in her boots but it was too late. She plowed into the Empire goon at full speed, her efforts only moving her enough to land on his shoulder instead of his back or head.  
  
They collapsed into a heap. The hairs at the back of her neck raised up as she heard the sound of bone crunching beneath her armor and the felled thug’s high-pitched scream. She pulled herself away from him as he rolled over. The way his arm flopped unnaturally made her stomach heave.  
  
Then he stopped moving.  
  
_Fuck! Oh shit. Oh crap._  
  
There was a stillness in the air as the remaining four and the victim stared at her and the fallen gang member. She felt her hand shake as she kneeled down. His eyes were closed, but his chest rose and fell in short intervals. Her shoulders sagged with relief as tension left her body. _Thank go_ —  
  
“Jesus fuck! He fucking killed him!” one of the thugs yelled. That got the rest out of their stupor. Two started to scramble away from her while one advanced, his arms raised to hit her with a bat—  
  
She flinched as two loud cracks sounded off, and something went _whizzing_ past her face.  
  
“Don’t shoot, you fucking idiot!” the thug closest to her screamed as he bent low to the ground.  
  
_If I get out of this alive, I’m treating myself to something_ , Taylor thought as her hand gripped the handle of the gun holstered to her side. Then thought the better of it and let go. It only had one setting, and ‘non-lethal’ wasn’t it.  
  
She flexed her foot. The magnetic burster activated, and she was propelled towards the mouth of the alley where the gunman was. His eyes widened as she closed the distance in a heartbeat.  
  
Taylor’s stomach somersaulted as the gun fired with another loud crack. Thankfully, she was already within striking distance when it went off. A burst concentrated on one foot drove her knee into his stomach, and she instinctively shut her eyes closed as something wet hit her in the head and torso.  
  
_This is going to smell_ , Taylor thought sullenly. She could see stray particles of saliva and… something else splattered on her helmet’s visor. She had no time to even get the chunks off as one of the gangsters yelled.  
  
There was a dull impact against her back, and she fell forward on all fours. Footsteps.  
  
She rolled over on her side, the bat barely missing her face. Looking up, she could see the thug glaring down at her, the bat raised above his head for another swing. He didn't get the chance: she flexed her feet and another magnetic burst sent her flying forward off the ground. The breath left him in a rush as her head slammed into him full force. She managed to wrap her arms around his waist as they flew, clipping something along the way before hitting the wall. The impact made her teeth rattle though his body cushioned hers. She recovered first, rising to her feet as the goon sunk limply to the ground, groaning in pain.  
  
“Sorry,” she whispered as she used another burst to kick him between his legs. His eyes went wide as saucers as he screamed, clutching at his manhood and rolling over.  
  
No, she really was sorry, and she _definitely_ did not feel any kind of sadistic glee from that.  
  
Taylor whipped her head towards the two remaining gangsters. Or one. One guy was unconscious beside the dumpster, bleeding from his head. His tire iron was a few feet away from him. She must have hit him when she'd gone flying into the wall with the other thug.  
  
Two birds with one stone.  
  
The last goon looked between his friends on the ground—particularly at the guy still clutching his groin—and her. She was careful to keep him in her sight as she crouched. Her hand reached forward and grabbed the gangster’s bat. The last guy chose that moment to bolt. But she was ready.  
  
With another bend of her feet, she leaped towards him, her heart pounding in anticipation as she gripped the bat with two hands and cocked it behind her back in mid-air.  
  
She swung—and hit nothing. Her back slammed against a wall and she hit the ground with a crack. Then she heard the sound of running footsteps.  
  
_Not getting away!_ She looked up and snapped her head towards the long alleyway… only to see nothing. _No one normal is_ that _fast… Other way._  
  
For what seemed like the hundredth time that day, she pulled herself up and ran to the mouth of the alley. She found her quarry immediately. He was _fast_. Already, he was more than a couple dozen feet away from her. Unfortunately for him, the direction he took off to had no alleys to turn around in, and he hadn’t reached the intersection yet.  
  
She sucked in a breath as she raised the bat and activated the burst again. The world blurred around her as the thug’s retreating form rapidly approached in her sight. She had to get this right, to swing at just the right time…  
  
_Now!_  
  
There was a solid _crack_ and she felt the feedback of the swing all the way up to her shoulders. She managed to skid to a halt a few feet ahead, turning back to see the thug hit the ground face-first. However, the sheer force of the blow kept carrying him forward and she couldn't help but wince as he flipped forward along his neck, crashing against and turning over a trash can, sending stray bits of garbage to stream across the sidewalk. She watched the train wreck continue to unfold with a mix of fascination and horror as he kept rolling a few more times like a tumbleweed caught in the wind. He finally came to a stop against the alley wall and she let loose a sigh of relief when she heard him groan and weakly bring his hands up against the back of his head.  
  
_Still alive…_ she thought with relief. _Would’ve been bad to start my career by killing someone—even if they were Empire mooks_.  
  
She looked around, half-expecting to see someone watching or a gangster trying to sneak up on her. But no, she was alone.  
  
_That’s a relief_ , she mused.  
  
She sighed, letting out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. She felt lightheaded, her heart pounding and her hands trembling. She was still wired to the energy that she felt while fighting—so much so that she feared she’d collapse once it ran out.  
  
_Do heroes always feel like this when they get the bad guys? I could get used to this_ , she thought, then paused. _Crap, the victim_.  
  
She ran back to the alley. One gangster was sprawled on the sidewalk across the street, the next one was at the dumpster, the other two were still on the ground. All thugs were accounted for, but the victim was nowhere to be seen.  
  
_If he could run like that then he’s okay, I guess_ , Taylor thought as she started walking back towards the last gangster she felled. She reached out a hand to her utility belt and took out a burner phone and a few zip-ties with still-shaking hands.  
  
She punched out the hotline for the police.

▲

She didn't slow down until she was well over ten blocks from the area where the police were congregating. She wiped her visor with a gauntleted hand, careful not to scrape its surface.  
  
With the adrenaline gone, she could feel the strain she put her body through. Her muscles were sore, her feet felt heavy, and it was harder to hear from her left ear. That, and she was all too aware of the smell coming off her.  
  
_Tissues. I’ll bring tissues next time_. _And deodorant_.  
  
People littered the streets and the sidewalk. Drunks, prostitutes, druggies, and the occasional gangbanger, but none bothered her. As banged up as her armor was, it was obvious she wasn't just a random girl on the street at night.  
  
She stared back at a trio of Empire thugs closest to her as if daring them to make the first move. They didn’t. Instead, they moved away, with one giving her the bird.  
  
Taylor smiled under her helmet as she moved on.  
  
She crossed the street and jumped. Her stomach shifted as she ascended. She fumbled with the landing, her forward momentum making her fall on the gravel.  
  
“That was embarrassing,” she muttered to herself. Hopefully nobody saw that. The armor was long due for a better balancing system, but with the resources she had now, it wasn’t possible for a while.  
  
_Maybe I’ll go rogue for a month or two_ , she mused, then snorted. She didn’t get powers just so she could go _rogue_ , of all things.  
  
She jumped across the rooftops, boosting her jumps and breaking her fall with bursts where needed. Building a floor higher than the one she was on now? It was nothing a burst couldn’t handle. Street in between buildings? Magnetically assisted jump to get her across.  
  
She… wasn’t very graceful with her landings. Most of them ended with her rear on the ground or on all fours, but she’d find a way to work around that in the future—once she had better tools.  
  
After jumping over a vent, Taylor arrived at her first destination: a 7-Eleven store mixed with a gas station. Like with the rest of this part of the city, it wasn’t in pristine condition. The white walls were chipping off, the windows were grimy at the side, and there was litter everywhere. Not to mention, one wall was sprayed over and over with differing gang tags—most notable were the Empire and Merchant tags.  
  
There wasn't anyone loitering outside, probably because of the young man standing guard by the door. He was wearing a rust-red jacket, complete with a red mask that covered his upper face. Taylor almost did a double take after seeing the way the jacket's sleeve tightened around his biceps, then at his broad chest—  
  
“You going to cause trouble?” he asked in an almost casual tone. Behind the mask, he didn’t look too bothered by her. As she went closer, she could see some tearing at his jacket—small and thin. Under the tearing was a red shirt.  
  
She shook her head. “No, I only want to buy food.”  
  
“Go on ahead. Just know I'll be watching,” he said, waving for her to come in.  
  
The scent of coffee and donuts in the conditioned air made her mouth water. Rows upon rows of food dominated the interior, each placed on aisles. A handful of people walked about, checking the aisles. She didn’t really need to agonize on what to buy. She put a donut in a paper bag and took it to the cashier.  
  
The middle-aged woman raised a trimmed eyebrow at her costume. Or perhaps it was the muck on her, judging by the slight wrinkling of her nose. Either way, she asked no questions, and Taylor was thankful for it.  
  
When she reemerged from the shop, the boy wasn’t alone this time. A skinhead was glaring daggers at him, his shoulders squared and his face just inches away as if trying to make the boy back down. Not much chance of that: the cape in red towered over the skinhead and was at least twice as broad.  
  
“Trouble?” she asked.  
  
The skinhead glared over at her but left without a word. She almost smiled at that. Almost.  
  
“Not anymore,” he said, smiling. “Looked like he was begging for a fight with someone inside. Didn’t appreciate a ‘brownie’ getting in the way of things.” He didn’t seem to be offended, despite the words, but he sounded tired.  
  
He sighed. “Sometimes I wonder if they pay me enough to do this.”  
  
She shrugged. “Have to pay the bills, somehow.”  
  
He looked up to the night sky, saying, “Yeah. Can be tough being a cape sometimes. And being on guard duty doesn’t pay much. Anyway, thanks for the assist. I _really_ didn’t want to get stabbed again today.”  
  
She smiled. “Glad to be of help.” She peered inside the store to look at the wall clock. “I have to go.”  
  
“Right, be seeing you,” he replied, leaning back on the wall.  
  
She walked towards the sidewalk and jumped to the top of the rooftops again.  
  
She started to move south, then stopped. Richard and her mother wouldn’t ask anything if she arrived late. Not after what happened the first few times they did. But this was her first night out. And she had bagged not one, but five bad guys.  
  
She turned on her heel and headed north.

▲

As Taylor neared her destination, she jumped off the side of the building and onto the alley below. She looked around at the street. Empty. Assured nobody would see her, she ran towards her base.  
  
The warehouse was abandoned. Hardly unique for a building given that it was located at the Docks. At around two stories tall, it didn’t stand out from the other buildings in the area. The water tank beside the building had most of the ‘tank’ part of it out. She was wearing it now—some of it, at least. More than half of the metal fire escape was also cannibalized, but she had left the chain-link fence alone. It provided some semblance of protection, even though she knew it was all moot if supervillains came knocking.  
  
She jumped over the fence and went in through a large window jamb on the ground.  
  
Warehouses as a general rule were spacious; abandoned ones even more so given that people usually took the equipment with them once they left. The air inside was musty, and it mixed weirdly with the smell coming off her armor. She unclipped a flashlight from her belt and carefully made her way through the dark.  
  
Even with the familiarity with her surroundings, she couldn’t help but feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up from the stillness in the air. That only made the sound coming from her footsteps and armor louder as she walked towards the stairs leading to the basement.  
  
_At this point, any sound is welcome_ , she thought as she reached the stairs. She went down, staying on the steps closer to the wall to not slip down the ramp. She had placed a ramp in order to transport some of the heavier materials down. When she reached the bottom, there was only one way to go: the office.  
  
The rotted door creaked as she pushed it open. It was pitch-black inside, and she had to fumble around to find the switch, flipping it to reveal the interior.  
  
A workbench was to her right, with tools hanging on the wall dominated by shelves, and above it were boarded-up windows that would have showed the view outside. The shelves held smaller tools placed side-by-side on the two highest racks while unfinished tinkertech dominated the rest. Her blowtorch was beside the bench. She had to buy it rather than try to find one at the Trainyards or make it herself. Her makeshift forge was on a corner of the far side of the room, with a heap of metal beside it, as well as an anvil she’d cobbled together out of a cut piece of rail track. Behind the door was one of the first things she made: a small power source, as well as a broom to keep dust from gathering.  
  
Taylor threw the bag with the donut on top of her workbench and took off her helmet. She crinkled her nose as she smelled something sour and fermented. Then she remembered the vomit.  
  
Sighing, she put the helmet down and sat on the stool. Suddenly, she wasn’t so hungry anymore.  
  
She glared at the grimy visor as if it was at fault. It was that time her eyes caught something behind the donut bag that made her blood run cold.  
  
_I don’t remember putting this there_.  
  
The card wasn’t anything special: it looked like it was made of the same kind of cheap stationery you could get at a dollar mart. It was crinkled at the corner from where the bag had pushed it against the wall. With all that, it could have just been a stray bit of rubbish.  
  
But she knew better. She flipped the paper over.

       Be ready for another meeting tonight. We will open a door for you at your workshop. 11:00 PM. –c

She turned the torch on and burned the paper afterwards.


	2. Origin 1.2

_Ah hell. I can’t tinker like this_.  
  
Her hands were shaking, and it wasn't just from the cold. She dropped the welding torch over at the table with a sigh. A prototype of her bomb lay in front of her, with its internal mechanisms open. Just needed to weld it shut and finish the other bombs, and she’d be good to test it at the Trainyards. If she was fast, she could finish it all within the week. As enthusiastic as she was with that prospect, she was still reeling from that card.  
  
What did they want with her now? It’d been three months since she last saw them—since they gave her powers. All of her meetings with them thus far had left her with the impression of a stereotypical shadow organization: secretive, cold, and businesslike. They weren't the type to call a client just to ask how the weather was. If they wanted to meet her, it would be to cash in a 'favor' she owed them. The thought alone made her stomach churn.  
  
“Damn it,” she muttered, opening a drawer, taking out a damp cloth and started to furiously scrub her helmet clean. It was practically spotless already. But there might be a spot here and there that she missed. And there was something therapeutic about doing something that didn’t need a lot of thinking. She shivered as cold air breezed behind her. _That’d be them_.  
  
Taylor dropped the cloth on her workbench, careful not to place it near the donut bag, and stepped through the Door behind her.  
  
There was no one waiting for her, but she already knew where she was supposed to go. Her boots made heavy clunking sounds against the white-tiled floor as she walked, going through the many empty, clean hallways and past identical-looking doors. She made her way into the first room they had brought her in: an office. It was as painfully dull as the rest of the building: white walls and floor, minimally decorated, and with no windows to boot.  
  
The Doctor was waiting inside, seated behind a white desk with a small stack of papers on top. With her white lab coat and suit, she looked as bland as the rest of the room. The only thing that contrasted was her dark skin.  
  
“Annette,” she said, using the alias Taylor had given her in their previous meetings. She gestured to the white stool in front of the desk. “Have a seat.”  
  
Taylor raised an eyebrow, looking at the Doctor, then at the chair. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”  
  
“Your weight in armor is all accounted for, I assure you.”  
  
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Taylor said as she obliged the Doctor and slowly sat down. At first, she made sure that half her weight was on her feet; when the chair didn’t break, she put her entire weight on it. Still, the chair stood firm. A quick look at the underside showed the seat’s height was adjustable as well. _Huh._  
  
“Mind if I take one of these?” Taylor couldn't help but ask.  
  
The Doctor’s eyebrows rose a fraction as Taylor shrank. “We don’t usually give away furniture. But we may be able to arrange for you to get one—for a small fee, of course.”  
  
Taylor grimaced. _Ask stupid questions..._ “I think I’ll take my chances, thanks.”  
  
“As you wish,” the Doctor said, shifting in her chair and looking as prim as ever. “If there is nothing else, we have some things we need to discuss. Tell me, Annette: how is your current situation?”  
  
“‘Current situation?’”  
  
“I understand that tonight was your first foray into heroing.”  
  
“It was,” Taylor said, her mouth dry and her stomach dropping. It was a struggle to keep her face from betraying too much emotion. _These people know everything_. She swallowed before saying, “But I wasn’t supposed to start tonight.”  
  
“Tell me.”  
  
“I was going to put it off at least until late December—by that time I would have been finished with my bombs and maybe even my sensor. I only got out that night because I was testing my gun in the Trainyards. I was going back to my base when I saw some thugs surrounding a guy, and I couldn’t exactly leave him for dead either. And you know what happened after, I guess.”  
  
“I see,” the Doctor said, leaning back on her chair. “What of your resources? Materials? Tools?”  
  
_Are they offering help?_ Taylor couldn’t imagine they would considering they _did_ just empty her own pockets a few months ago.  
  
“I’m getting by,” she said. “Some trouble with getting parts for the more advanced designs, but with time and research I can make the parts myself—or save up for it.” _Hopefully_.  
  
The Doctor looked at Taylor with those cold eyes of hers. Like a scientist would with a lab rat. “I have an idea on how you can acquire all that without much complications; a way you can get the funding and materials you need.”  
  
“Another program? Or having me join a group?”  
  
“The latter.”  
  
_They want me to be a mole_. Taylor’s lips thinned. “To be honest,” she started, despite her mind screaming at her to stop talking right this instant. “I don’t feel good about joining a team on your request. I’m grateful for the power, I really am, but I don’t trust you to act altruistically. No offense.”  
  
“None taken,” the Doctor said, a light smile on her face. “Cauldron isn’t too self-absorbed as to not see how most of our own clients see us. As for the matter at hand, all I am asking of you is to join.”  
  
“Which group?” Taylor asked. “I’m not sure I want to be a Nazi or anything. And I did tell you about what I won’t do when we first met. I still won’t cross that line.”  
  
“And you won’t,” the Doctor replied smoothly. “Often, the most we ask of our clients is usually a simple task or a week of service. Clients such as yourself wouldn't be tasked with more than courier work or retrieving items. And, assuming you haven’t changed your mind, you wanted to be a hero, did you not? My suggestion would be to join your local Wards team.”  
  
_‘Usually’._ Meaning that they weren’t against asking clients for murder? And then there was the way she had said it. The Doctor had been careful how she'd phrased things; if Taylor hadn't been paying attention, she wouldn't have picked up on the implications. She didn’t like that one bit.  
  
“And you’re telling me you don’t have any ulterior motive in getting me to join up with a government-backed superhero team?”  
  
“One of our agents thought it was best for you to join sooner rather than later,” the Doctor said. “I’m inclined to agree with them. The local gangs can get quite enthusiastic when faced with the prospect of a newly triggered tinker.”  
  
Taylor almost snorted. _They’re saying they’re making me join for my_ benefit _? Doubt it. And she didn’t exactly answer my question either._  
  
“You will be the one to gain the most out of this option, I believe. The PRT gives its tinkers a hefty sum of money to produce more inventions. If nothing else, and like I previously mentioned, you will also have the resources and materials you need to further develop your devices.”  
  
Taylor looked down on her gauntleted hand. Truth was, she had been thinking about joining the Wards—but that was only after months of making a name for herself. Or maybe even until she was old enough to join the Protectorate and skip the kid’s club entirely.  
  
“Is this a suggestion, or a _suggestion_?” Taylor asked.  
  
The Doctor’s cold eyes bored in on her. “Consider this as your first favor to us.”  
  
Taylor’s heart skipped a beat.  
  
_There’s no real choice here_. Obey, get disappeared, or lose her powers. Some options those were. It didn't matter that she didn't want to join, or that she'd have to abandon her base. Either way, it was too late to regret it now.  
  
“Alright,” Taylor said, her hand shaking. Was it from fear? Contempt? She didn’t know. “Is there something else you need?”  
  
“Just so,” the Doctor said, intertwining her fingers in front of her. “There is the matter of your trigger event. If you are to join the Wards, I think it is best to get that detail out of the way.”  
  
“I thought you said they didn’t ask about trigger events.”  
  
“No, they do not. But that is irrelevant.” The Doctor took one page from the stack of papers in front of her, reading it—then her dark eyes flicked over to Taylor’s own. “The Wards just recently acquired an empath in their roster: Gallant. While we don’t believe you are in danger of being exposed, I would recommend you to be cautious about mentioning anything too… specific to your peers.”  
  
_Unless I want to get disappeared or depowered. I get it already._ “I’ll keep that in mind.”  
  
“Then our business for today is concluded,” the Doctor said, smiling lightly. “I expect we will not be meeting like this again. Not for a long time. If you please.” She gestured to the door.  
  
Taylor knew better than to keep her waiting. She stood up, turned on her heel, and began walking out. The door was an actual Doorway into her workshop now. She passed through it, and the Door closed behind her.

▲

It was barely past midnight when Taylor got off the bus.

Unlike the Docks, this part of town was nicely illuminated by both the street lamps and from the lights coming from the high-rise buildings above. From here, she could see the Towers off in the distance and a well-lit park across the street. Despite the thickness of her jacket, she shivered before turning left.

After three minutes of walking, she arrived at her destination. The building loomed overhead, though only a bit taller than its neighbors. It was a cylindrical mass of metal and glass with rows of balconies lined up vertically from top to near-bottom. Lights filtered through from some of the windows, but most were turned off at this hour. This late at night, the only thing she could hear were the soft sounds of falling water from the wall fountain in the center of the parking area. Taylor made her way past the fountain and the valet booth and headed up the steps towards the entrance, the words ‘Upper City’ emblazoned in blue and gold on the overhang above.

“Evening, Miss Hebert,” the doorman greeted her as he opened the glass door for her.

She only nodded stiffly at him before venturing inside.

The interior was a stark contrast to the glass and metal that dominated its exterior. Glossed wooden panels lined the floor, contrasting with the dark wood, and off-white stucco for the walls. The ceiling was high and had a chandelier that looked like a bunch of boxed-up candles, each hanging by a thread. Framed abstract paintings decorated the walls: black boxes against a red backdrop, another piece that was simply a swirl of colors, and more. She'd never seen the appeal herself, but it was apparently all the rage these days. She passed by the piano and the overly large TV that kept switching channels, and past the sofas and the glass tables.

A large wooden desk lay on the far end of the reception area, just before the elevators. Behind it was seated a broad-shouldered man in jacket and tie, sipping what looked like coffee in one hand while fiddling with a TV remote in the other. He perked up as Taylor approached.

“Evening, Taylor,” Mike, the receptionist, said as he gave her a smile. “You’re out pretty late. Do try to ease up on the partying. Or whatever it is you teenagers do these days.”

Taylor didn’t know what to say to that, so she opted to just smile, though she suspected it came out more like a grimace instead.

She went past him, making her way towards the elevators. She took an open one up to the ninth floor and got off, a hallway filled with identical doors greeted her. Their condo lay in the middle of the hall, and with a swipe of her keycard, she went inside. She was careful to close and lock the door with as little noise as she could, then proceeded to tip-toe into her room.

_How do I even do this?_ Taylor thought as she entered and closed the door behind her. She dropped her backpack over at the side and plopped on the bed, putting an arm on her face, feet dangling at the side.

When she next came to, sunlight was streaming in through the curtains.

“Crap,” Taylor muttered as she blinked blearily. She rolled off to the side, a bit sore from sleeping in a weird position. She could hear sounds coming from outside her room now. She stared at the door for a bit before standing up. Normally, she would have just splashed water on her face and been done with it, but all the exertion from last night left her still stinking of sweat—something a hot bath would fix.

She undressed and went inside her bathroom and into the shower, steam filling the room as she turned the hot water on. Jets of warm water splashed against her skin, and she gave off a sigh of relief, already starting to feel the knots in her muscles loosen. She closed her eyes, savoring the sensation as the water flowed over her, as if it carried away her every ache and worry along with it.

Of course, that respite wasn’t meant to last. Already, the Doctor’s words drifted back into the forefront of her mind, and not even the roar of the water in her ears could drown it out. Just what in the world was she going to do?

_Tell my mother, obviously_. This would be the best time to break the news. Her mother was already up this time of the day while Richard wouldn’t be up until around half an hour later. _I’ll have to tell her that I have powers. And that I’ve been hiding that fact for almost three months_.

_Does she deserve to know though?_ Taylor turned the water off and went into the walk-in-closet, towel-drying her hair along the way. She picked out a simple maroon blouse, jeans, and a jacket, then returned to her room and retrieved her backpack.

She stopped by the door, her hand on the knob but not opening it. _Does she?_ she wondered—then shook her head. _It doesn’t really matter. The Doctor made it clear what she wanted to happen. Better to just get it done_.

Trying not to pay attention to the butterflies in her stomach, she opened the door and stepped out. She could hear a faint sizzling sound as she entered the main room, and the aroma of bacon wafted through the air. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, casting the living room in shades of yellow and gold, and into the dining room and kitchen beyond. It was all connected in one large area, bordered by a wall that led to the bedrooms. On the wall itself, Taylor could see the framed picture her mother had placed a few months back: a man with sandy blond hair and a strong jaw, dressed in a toga, and smiling with a ridiculous sticker mustache on his upper lip.

Her mother was in the kitchen, her dark, wavy hair done up in a ponytail, wearing a matte-gray apron over her slender frame. She was flipping over the bacon strips Taylor had smelled earlier, but she wasn’t as alone as Taylor thought.

Richard was with her, in a white polo shirt and khakis instead of the toga, his arms wrapped around her mother’s waist.

Taylor’s lips thinned as she averted her eyes, blood rushing to her head.

“Good morning, dear,” her mother said. “Take a seat. I’ll be cooking an omelet for Richard after this. Do you want some?”

“No,” Taylor clipped. “Listen—Mom, something just came up. I…” She trailed off, glancing at Richard.

Her mother looked over at her, spatula in hand. “Yes?”

She shook her head. “It’s nothing.” Her eyes flicked back over at Richard, who was now setting out a trio of plates on the dinner table. “You’re up early.” _Too early_.

“Ah, um, good morning, Taylor,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “And yes, I have to drop by Vincent’s before work today.” He turned to Annette. “His son’s sixteenth birthday is coming soon, so he wants me to help with the festivities. The man dotes too much on his kid. I tell you.”

“I still think he puts too much pressure on the boy,” Annette replied, cracking a couple of eggs and pouring the yolk into the pan.

“Would you believe me when I say he actually let up?”

Annette turned back. “He did? That’s surprising.”

“Yep. He wouldn’t say why though. Bastard.”

“Nonetheless, I’m glad he did. Speaking of which, did you ask him about _that_?”

Richard grinned. “He said there’s a suburb down south that’s ‘cheap’. Though, knowing him, cheap is still probably too much for us. But no harm in looking, yeah?”

“Yeah,” her mother replied, smiling. “Check it this weekend?”

Richard’s brows scrunched together. “No, I have to attend a seminar for the whole weekend. The annual AAD conference, remember? I'm supposed to give a talk for all the other dermatologists.”

“Next weekend then?”

Richard smiled. “It’s a date.”

_She and Dad used to talk like this,_ she thought, her chest feeling constricted. _I can’t fucking stay here._ She strode towards the exit, backpack already slung behind her.

“Taylor,” Annette said, only addressing Taylor now. “Eat. I don’t want you to go to school again without breakfast.” She was trying to hide it, but Taylor could see the lines of worry etched in her face. Annette and Richard shared a glance with each other that told Taylor what this was all about.

“You need to keep up your energy,” Richard said, standing by Annette and placing a hand on her shoulder. Taylor suppressed a grimace at that. “Especially since you, uh, didn’t eat dinner last—”

“I’m fine,” Taylor said with some force, her head hung low as she continued to walk past the dinner table and towards the door. “I’ll probably come back late again.”

Her mother called out, “A-at least take a piece of toast with—”

Taylor opened the door and slammed it shut behind her. Her eyes burned as she walked towards the elevators and she had to blink furiously, fighting to keep it dry. A few people were already waiting in front of the elevator doors but Taylor stepped past without preamble, turning right and heading down through the stairs. She dabbed her sleeve on her eyes as she continued stomping down. She was on the last flight of stairs to the ground floor when she realized that she hadn’t brought an extra set of clothes with her.

“Damn,” she muttered, stopping on the landing. It was a choice between going back to _that_ or moving on and having no extra set of clothes for her gym session. She paused.

_Fuck them_.

She continued on downstairs; it was too early for Arcadia to be open yet, but she needed to be anywhere but here right then. Frustration bubbled beneath her skin, and she felt like screaming.

_She's all but replaced Dad with_ him _now_.

Richard was here to stay—there was no getting around that. It was part of the reason why she'd sought out powers, why she wanted to be a hero: to get away from all that.

Three months of preparation, of slowly but surely building up her resources and her tools, securing her workshop and getting set for her hero career...

All undone with a few words off the back of a cheap card.

And now she had to come clean with her mother and Richard when avoiding them had been the point of the whole thing in the first place.

_Maybe I’m going at this the wrong way_ , she thought. She wasn’t sure how exactly Wards were recruited: while she doubted most could get away with leaving their parents in the dark, there was a chance that exceptions could be made. At the very least, it couldn’t hurt to try asking.

_We’ll be dismissed early today—I can get my armor before I head over to the PRT_.

▲

“…’s Men were successful in this endeavor. Galeron’s involvement in particular was instrumental in…” Mr. Coldwater droned. Even he sounded bored of his own voice.  
  
Taylor checked her wristwatch for the thousandth time that period. _Still two minutes to go_ , she thought sullenly.  
  
Most instructors at least took the time to decorate their rooms, to add their own personal touch. Mr. Coldwater's room was as dull as the man himself; it was just as bare and spartan as the classroom had initially been set up. She turned away from the window when she heard giggling beside her and found Sabrina passing a note to the girl in front of her seat. The girl noticed her looking and grinned, putting an index finger to her lips _—_ then abruptly straightened up as Mr. Coldwater turned from the board and back towards the class.  
  
She needn’t have bothered though. His attention was more to the side, near the door where most of the students clustered for a quick escape once his class ended. Hardly anyone by contrast sat on her side by the windows. It was just as well anyway: she wasn’t fond of crowds, and the view was nice.  
  
Taylor went back to doodling on the back pages on her notebook while she tapped her feet against the floor. On the page before her was what looked like a ray gun straight out of a _Buck Rogers_ episode, all solid lines and angles, with the same fluted barrel that almost looked like the end of a trumpet. She’d been careful to leave out any annotations, just in case someone came looking.  
  
She needed a less-lethal weapon for the goons and the weaker capes. Her magnetic burster was a decent option, but it was intended to be used for movement, not offense, and she didn’t have the training or gear to afford fighting in close combat all the time. The sonic gun she was sketching would make for a nice step up from what she currently had.  
  
As far as she could tell, the best the gun could do given its size was destroy someone’s eardrums. Painful enough knock someone out of a fight quickly. It wouldn’t quite have the same punch as her disintegration gun, but it would definitely be a lot more PR friendly. It was something she’d have to consider in general if she was going to be a Ward in the first place.  
  
Taylor sighed and stopped doodling.  
  
“...n’s devices helped defense put up efforts in the London attack. That in turn…”  
  
_Loopholes. There’s got to be one for this_ , Taylor thought as she started to bite her pen. She stopped. Did she have to join right away? Maybe a few months of solo work for now… Cauldron wouldn’t get on her case for that, would they? Would they send someone to ‘remind’ her if she put it off?  
  
_They probably would. Stupid._  
  
“...en’s influence could be felt even here, in the US now that they and the Protectorate have…”  
  
Or maybe not. Thinking back on that conversation, the Doctor did say she should join, but not _when_. That was important. Given how careful the Doctor had chosen her words in general, what she hadn't said was as important as what she had. And there hadn't been any mention of how soon they needed her to join the Wards. While there was little question that they’d probably kill or depower her if it came to it, she doubted that they’d go so far as to jump the gun on her when she was _clearly_ going to join… in a few months.  
  
Maybe ‘doubted’ was too strong a word to use. Hoped, maybe?  
  
_I am so fucked if I’m wrong about this_.  
  
Still. It wasn’t going to cost her anything if she checked with the PRT later. For all she knew, maybe they _would_ be okay with a Ward not telling their parents.  
  
She perked up when the bell rang and immediately began to pack her belongings. Her other classmates were also quick on the uptake; sounds of chairs scraping against the floor, binders being slammed shut, and the growing murmur of around thirty voices talking all at once filled the air.  
  
“Remember to study for the quiz next time we meet,” Mr. Coldwater said. He snorted and shook his head when a few students groaned. “And don’t forget to put your homework in before the quiz starts, or I won’t give you credit for it.”  
  
_Ah, Mr. Coldwater, always so strict with deadlines_ , she thought as she strode out the door.  
  
The hallway was crowded with people, each going about their business in a flurry of chaos. Sounds of laughter, locker doors whining, and sneakers dragging on the linoleum echoed through the halls. Still, Taylor swam through it, careful not to bump into anyone as she made her way to her locker.  
  
She deposited all of her books inside, including her notebook, and shut the door—only to see a smiling face behind said locker. She had to stop her hand from jerking up in response.  
  
Sabrina laughed and abruptly stopped. Mary stood beside her, arms folded and looking as unamused with her friend as Taylor felt.  
  
“Sorry,” Sabrina said, still smiling. She had the decency to sound embarrassed, at least.  
  
“Forgive her, she can be a dolt sometimes,” Mary said, holding Sabrina in place with two arms to her shoulders as the girl started to protest. “Hey.”  
  
Taylor smiled at them, fidgeting at the strap of her backpack. “Hey, need anything?”  
  
“Right,” Sabrina said, perking up. “Well. Me and the girls—that is, me, Mar, Jane, and Rei are planning on hanging out at Fugly Bob’s right now.” Her brows furrowed. “Well, not right _now_ now. I mean when we get there after we arrive. Then we do the hanging out.”  
  
“Very eloquent,” Mary remarked.  
  
Sabrina stuck out her tongue at the brown-skinned girl, but Mary only grinned.  
  
“Sorry, guys,” Taylor began. There was a familiar shift in their expressions as she continued, “I’m kind of busy right now so…”  
  
“Oh,” Sabrina said as she and Mary exchanged glances. “It’s just that you never hang out with anybody, so I thought that…” she trailed off when Mary put a hand on her shoulder and shook her head. “Right,” the dark-haired girl said with a sigh. “Well. See you, Taylor. I guess.”  
  
“Bye, Taylor,” Mary said.  
  
Taylor only waved back as they both turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd. She waited for a few seconds before following after them towards the exit.

▲

Taylor sipped her tea as she sat inside the café. The conditioned air inside was thick with the aroma of coffee that made the taste seem off, or at least that’s how she felt.  
  
Light jazz music played in the background as waiters smartly dressed in black-and-white went around, serving drinks and pastries. Prints of abstract paintings proclaiming to be from the likes of Rothko, Kadinsky, and Klee lined the walls, while square tables with glass insets were strategically arranged in a spiral pattern, rounding out the café’s _avant-garde_ aesthetic. Taylor chose to sit in one of the cushiony benches near the window. As atmospheric as the cafe was, her eyes weren’t anywhere but on the building across.  
  
It didn’t look like much: it was heavily windowed and at this time of the day, it reflected the orange-red glow of the early evening sky. Besides that, it would have blended in with any of the other office buildings or the like in this part of town—would have anyway, had it not been for the image of a shield that hung prominently on the center, the word ‘PRT’ inscribed within.  
  
_What are you waiting for, Taylor?_ She looked back down at her tea cup. It was almost empty save enough for one last sip. She drank it and sighed. _Just go in, ask the question, then leave. Simple_.  
  
Taylor picked up the jaw guard beside the cup and held it to her face, triggering the magnetic lock. The two pieces snapped into place, eliciting an audible _clang_. She stood up, leaving her tip on the table, and left the shop as surreptitiously as she could—right towards the PRT building.  
  
People outside stared and got out of her way as she passed by. Trying not to feel too self-conscious, she navigated through as quickly as she could, all too aware that she had very little armor on currently. She only had the gauntlets and the chest plate on, concealed by a gray trench coat she’d worn over it. The leg armor had been too bulky to bring along, so she’d opted for a pair of jeans and leather boots. She straightened her back when she saw a couple of people her age with their phones out, pointed in her direction. She didn’t look that impressive at the moment, but she wasn’t about to slouch over in what might well be the first photos that anyone would take of her.  
  
_Move on_ , she silently told them. They didn’t. She kept walking, trying to look anywhere but at the cameras. Then she saw _it_.  
  
_Oh… my_ …  
  
It was a monstrosity. It was a thing of beauty. A sculpted beast of metal, polymer, and rubber. If there ever was anything Taylor was sure of in her entire fourteen years of being alive, it was that she wanted to study this magnificent beast.  
  
The motorcycle was _huge_ , but sleek at the same time: it was all curves and smooth contours, giving the bike an aerodynamic look. The seat itself was low to the ground, caught snug right between the front and rear cowls, which sloped far forward over the wheels. A massive windscreen lay above the throttle, a narrow half-dome that flared far back, and the instrument panel below the steering had more buttons and knobs on it than a jet fighter might. The engine was completely covered, with only rectangular vents and wire mesh to hint at its presence while solid domed hubcaps covered and protected the wheels. The whole thing was painted in shades of cobalt and the color of the morning sky, with silver highlights along the sides, and the bike gleamed a burnished reddish-gold in the light of the setting sun.  
  
She had only just come across it, and she’d already fallen in love.  
  
Even just staring at it like this, the images whirred through her head: schematics, designs— _ideas_. A magnetic field to shield against strong kinetic forces. A burster to boost the bike’s initial acceleration, as well as allowing it to change its vector in mid-air if need be, for increased agility and mobility. Gyroscopic wheels that would keep it from ever toppling over which also allowed it to temporarily stick to walls while accelerating. A heat sink for the engine that would enable it to run for days long without overheating. An echolocation sensor that used the bike’s sound to locate enemies.  
  
And so much more.  
  
“Like what you see?”  
  
_So many…_  
  
“Uh huh,” she replied absently.  
  
It was like receiving a Christmas gift—or a bunch of them, all wrapped up in blue-and-silver metal. And like any other child on Christmas day, she wasn’t satisfied with just looking at the gift wrapping: she wanted to open it up, to take a closer _look_. If the exterior was already this promising, just what lay within? Taylor wanted nothing more than to just take the bike back to her workshop and dismantle it piece by piece, to see what made the whole thing tick—and then put it all back together again.  
  
She could already imagine what she could learn by poking around the bike’s insides: perhaps more efficient means of energy transfer for her bombs and guns, improved circuit pathways to optimize power output and consumption, and how she could make her designs more compact overall. Her armor could definitely afford to shave off some weight, just so long as she could keep it just as effective as before.  
  
Though, it was all theoretical for now: actually incorporating the tech would be tricky. But she could manage, couldn’t she?  
  
Taylor touched the grip with a light hand. Something shifted beside her. Her eyes snapped to… her own helmet. It took her a second to realize that it was just a reflection. Then she took in the whole picture.  
  
And her brain promptly stopped working.  
  
“You’re a new face,” Armsmaster remarked. He was right _there_ beside her, arms crossed, and imposing in his blue and silver armor, his trademark halberd attached to his back, slightly longer than he was tall. His helmet had a V-shaped visor that covered the upper half of his face, a silhouetted image of the same embellishing his chest. What it didn’t cover were his jaw and lips, which were now quirked up at the sides.  
  
_Oh my god, I was staring at Armsmaster’s tech like an idiot_.  
  
It took her a few seconds to process that he was waiting for something.  
  
“Y-yeah,” she stammered. “I’m not totally new, not, uh, literally anyway. I’ve had powers for about three months, I think. I would’ve started going out earlier, but I’ve had to make all my stuff from scratch. You know how hard it is to make a forge all by yourself? And I've only started going out yesterday. Even that was an accide—” she stopped abruptly, her face burning.  
  
_Stop babbling, Taylor. Get on a grip on yourself_. She looked anywhere but at the hero’s face, thankful she’d brought her helmet this time.  
  
He just chuckled. “I know what you mean. I tried going solo the first few months I got my power as well.”  
  
_Oh god. He’s_ actually _talking to me_. “How-how’d that go for you?”  
  
“Not as well as I’d hope, but better than most I think,” he said. “It only got easier when I joined with the Protectorate.” He inclined his head, looking her over. “You made all that by yourself?”  
  
“Yeah. But it’s not done yet,” Taylor said, her stomach jolting. She moved her hands to stuff them in her pockets—then realized her gauntlets were too bulky to let them fit. She settled on crossing her arms in front of her instead, shuffling on her feet as she said, “I only had so much material on hand, so it’s still a work-in-progress.”  
  
He _hm’ed_ at that. “Have you thought about joining the Wards?”  
  
“I have,” Taylor replied carefully. “It’s kind of why I’m here in the first place.”  
  
“Excellent,” he said, smiling. “I have time to escort you to the building, if you’d like. You could call your guardian from inside as well.”  
  
Taylor felt a lump in her throat as she struggled to swallow. It was almost too painful for her to say it. “Oh, n-no. I-I—” She stopped and took a breath. “I’m only here to ask if the PRT would allow someone to become a Ward but not inform their parents. Um, not to join immediately. Um. Would they?”  
  
“I’m afraid not,” he said, slowly shaking his head. “You’ll have to let them know if you want to join.”  
  
Taylor bit her lip, her heart sinking. _It’s not like I really expected different anyway. So much for that._ “Then I think I’m going to try doing it solo for a little while.”  
  
Armsmaster frowned. “I recommend that you reconsider. Judging by the tunnel vision you had earlier, I’d put money down that you’re a tinker like myself. We especially benefit from having a team backing us up. Not to mention, the PRT gives us a lot of funding for our devices. And—most of all—you’ll have access to all the other schematics the PRT tinkers have made.”  
  
_And all it takes is telling my mother and_ Richard _about it_.  
  
“I’ll keep that in mind.” _Forget the Doctor—I’ll join when I’m ready, not before_. Unbidden, the image of a bullet entering her skull came to her, and Taylor had to restrain herself from shuddering. _Probably the stupidest decision I’ve made yet besides selling my_ soul, _but fuck it_.  
  
Armsmaster opened his mouth to say something in reply, but he paused. He simply nodded stiffly, hand reaching down to his utility belt and retrieving something from a compartment. He thrust it out at Taylor: a business card.  
  
“Call if you ever change your mind,” he said.  
  
Taylor gingerly took it. It was printed on heavy stock, with a dull blue finish. The front was blank, and Taylor flipped it over, revealing the phone number printed in silver on the back. There was nothing else on the card.  
  
A low humming sounded off, and Taylor looked back up. Armsmaster was seated in his motorcycle, his halberd now slotted into place along the side. The entire vehicle was practically vibrating. He inclined his head at her and then revved the handles of the bike, zooming off in a blur of blue-and-silver, surprisingly quiet for its speed and size. It disappeared from sight when it rounded the corner, leaving her alone on the sidewalk.  
  
For a while, Taylor just stood there, slack-jawed and staring at the spot where Armsmaster had been standing before. She glanced back at the PRT building and sighed, dropping the card inside the pocket of her trench coat and started walking back towards the bus stop.  
  
_The Wards can wait. Bombs, sensor, and now sonic gun. I need to finish those fast if I want to fight again_.


	3. Origin 1.3

Taylor’s face split into a wide grin as she hopped up from the stool—which fell over. Not that it spoiled her mood. She barely thought much of it as she put it back up.

It had been a hard week’s worth of tinkering, but they were finally ready.

 _Need to test these over at the Trainyards real quick._

Hands and feet tingling with energy, she took out her Kevlar bodysuit from the workbench’s underside and changed into it—zipping it close with one motion. Her civilian clothes were folded into a square, and she opened her backpack to chuck them inside—only to see light within.

Her smile died.

It was her phone. Not the burner phone, but her actual phone. And she was certain she knew who was calling.

She took the phone and inspected the screen.

       Mom is calling…

After a brief pause, she placed the phone away beside the backpack. The device vibrated along the bench while she put her clothes inside the bag. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the screen dim as the call ended—only to light up and start buzzing again a second later.

Taylor sighed.

 _So much for my mood_ , she thought as she looked back at the phone—her mother’s face at the center of the screen. _Maybe I should pick up this time. Get it over with._

The last time she hadn’t gone home for the night was when she’d first gotten her powers. Her mother had been more than a little unhappy when she showed up at the condo. _I really don’t want a repeat of_ that _either_.

She reached for the phone but hesitated just before she could pick it up, hand hovering over the screen. Her eyes drifted over to the utility belt beside the backpack—more importantly, at the pouches that now held six cylindrical bombs.

There were three of each type, distinguished by the colored tape she’d stuck on top: blue for concussion bombs and green for sonic.

She bit her lip. _Fuck it. I’ll call her back_ after _the testing_.

Taylor flipped the phone over. Out of sight, out of mind. Heedless of her decision, it began vibrating again, signaling yet another call. She tried not to pay attention to it as she strapped the belt to her waist.

Or tried to, anyway.

An unbidden yawn came to her and she stretched out, arching her back and extending her arms. She felt her bones pop and while it alleviated some of the tension in her body, she became aware of just how drowsy she felt.

 _Maybe I_ should _have taken a nap_ , she thought, yawning again as her eyes drooped. She took out her wristwatch from one of her backpack’s pouches.

Nine thirty-seven. _Crap_.

Taylor scratched at the arms of her suit. _Already late_. _Do I_ really _need to test these bombs tonight?_

She could just wait until tomorrow, get some well-deserved rest. It wasn’t as though she needed to test them right there, right _now_ , and she wouldn’t be saving any time by rushing like this. But, then again…

 _Dammit_. Taylor bit her lip, then snorted. She smiled as she thought, _I really,_ really _want to see if they actually work. Sleep can wait._

She walked over to the side of the workbench, stopping in front of her armor’s skeleton.

An apt name, considering how bare bones it seemed without the armored plates. It looked like a bunch of cobbled-up metal and leather: straps for her shoulders, hips, and knees, and thick metal poles with a servo joint to support her legs and feet. On the back was what looked like a sleeker version of the proton pack out of the _Ghostbusters_ , housing the power supply for the skeleton as well as the magnetic burster. There wasn’t anything for her arms—a future project, maybe. The only fixed piece of armor was her boots, which stored the trigger for the burster.

Taylor slipped her feet into the boots and braced her back against the box before she began strapping herself in—knees first, working her way up to her shoulders. The box thrummed with energy as she finished securing herself, and she could feel the skeleton come to life, vibrating with a steady rhythm.

The armor plates hung on a stand just across from the skeleton, and she trudged over towards it, careful not to move too fast or accidentally activate the burster in her boots. The first time she’d tried to move with it, she almost bashed her head against the wall—a mistake she wasn’t eager to repeat.

The armor itself was vaguely patterned off actual historical plate armor she’d looked up online: no need to reinvent the wheel. However, she’d taken a few liberties. No spaulders or pauldrons to protect her upper arm or shoulders, the cuirass covered her chest but not her entire abdomen, and there were no faulds to provide complete coverage for her waists and hips.

 _If I wasn’t practically a human matchstick, I might have been able to deal with the weight_ , she groused. Upper-body strength had never been Taylor’s forte, and she’d gotten sick of the push-up routine she’d tried in the past. Either way, until she finished the skeletal support for her arms and her back, there was only so much armor she could afford to put on.

Still, even with as many corners as she’d had to cut, it was more than fit for the task she’d designed it for. The armor plates were durable, forged out of steel she had cannibalized from the water tank and fire escape. It wouldn’t stop a high-velocity round from a rifle, but between the thick steel plates and the Kevlar underneath, knives and handguns wouldn’t be too much of an issue. Given that the whole thing had been cobbled together with just the resources she had on hand, she thought she did a pretty good job.

And the whole setup was _definitely_ easier to put on than actual plate armor.

Taylor walked up to the chest piece hanging on the stand, and with a sharp _clang_ , it magnetically locked into place with the box on her back. In seconds, she did the same with the greaves for her lower legs, followed up by the cuisse to protect her thighs, magnets along the metal rods helping to keep it secure. Afterwards, it was simple enough to put on her gauntlets and helmet—when she was done, she put on the utility belt as well, double-checking the contents: burner phone, zip-ties, alcohol, and a thin plastic full of tissues. Bombs didn’t seem to be loose in their pouches.

 _Finally. All set_.

She took out her flashlight and exited the room, flicking the lights out and proceeded to walk towards the stairs.

 _I’ll take the bus. Faster than using the magnetic burster all the way through._

There was a spring in her step as she ascended the stairs, and she couldn’t help but grin at the thought of getting to blow stuff up.

 _Would the explosion be big? I hope it is. Maybe then I can sell it to the PRT for a good price. Considering its size though… hmm, probably smaller_.

She stowed the flashlight away when she saw the orange glow of the streetlight filter through the window. Even from here she could smell the crispness of the cold night air, mixed with a dusty odor.

 _If I_ do _sell it to the PRT, I can buy the parts needed for the sensor._ Images of the PRT fielding her gear came to her; the same bombs she had now in their bandoleers, her own patented sonic gun as their standard sidearm, emblazoned with her logo…

 _Don’t get ahead of yourself, Taylor,_ she thought, smiling as stepped past the window jamb and out into the grass. _I wonder if they’d let me take a peek at some of their own schematics in exchange… maybe not, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask_ —

That was when she saw them.

Men wearing black and red bandanas, standing just beyond the chain link fence. They saw her too, pointing at her and homing in on her position, hands reaching to holsters and back pockets. All four of them had handguns.

 _Oh crap_. Her hand darted towards the grenades on her belt—

“Finally, the elusive tinker shows herself.”

Taylor’s stomach jumped to her throat as her head snapped up towards the voice.

Cast in stark contrasts of orange and black, a man in a form-fitting coat stood on top of a stone slab that loomed overhead. He had two gang members flanking him on each side, light gleaming off their handguns—barrels pointed at her.

A few meters behind him was another floating slab, two people standing on it: a girl dressed in robes and another thug—this one wielding what looked like a rifle.

 _Fuck_.

The platform the man stood on inched closer while the gangbangers on the ground passed through the gap in the fence and triggered the tripwires she’d installed in the perimeter. It was a simple alarm system designed to let her know if anyone trespassed into the bounds of the warehouse’s parking lot, in case a villain decided to attack her while she was in her workshop. Not much use for it now: the whole point was to warn her in advance, and she could now _see_ them well after the fact.

“I have to apologize for the abrupt visit,” the man said, nodding to her. “Our leader insisted on contacting you as quickly as possible, and so—” he swept his arms wide “—here we are.”

The gangbangers in front leered at her after the man’s proclamation, and Taylor clamped down on her urge to just activate her burster and try to escape. But, between all the guns trained on her, would she even be able to get far? How the hell was she going to get out of this?

Taylor could feel beads of sweat collecting on her skin beneath the helmet, and she forced herself to exhale. _Calm down, and_ think, _Taylor_.

They hadn’t attacked yet, so that meant she still had time. “Who are you?” she finally said. “What do you want?”

“No need to be tense,” the man said, his reflective mask glittering as he inclined his head. “We didn't come here to antagonize you. Only to talk—from one parahuman to another.”

“'Talk?’” She was only half-listening to the cape as she tracked the thugs on the ground out of the corner of her eye. Two directly in front, one on her left, and another hanging back by the entrance. Was there enough cover? Inside the warehouse would be better, but—

“Yes, talk,” he said. “First, move over there, would you?” He jerked his head towards an open area to her right—where the rifleman had perfect line of sight.

The thug to her left jabbed her unarmored side with his gun, and almost by instinct, she complied.

 _Best to go with it for now._ The rest of the goons followed suit, positioning themselves in the same way as before.

No cover to use from here except one—a spot between the warehouse wall and a few stacks of slabs. From that position, she’d have a good line of sight on all of them—not to mention the slabs would make a sturdy cover. And she only needed one leap to get there.

“Now,” the man said. “To answer your question: my name is Krieg.” He paused. “I do hope we haven’t intimidated you overmuch. But you know how it is in this line of work. Can’t be too careful.”

Taylor nodded over at the robed girl. “Who’s she?”

The girl crossed her arms. “Rune. And don’t get any—”

Krieg held up a hand, cutting the girl off. “Rune,” he said, his tone biting.

Rune tensed and balled her fists, but said nothing in response, choosing instead to kick at the slab she was standing on and turned away from the two of them.

Krieg sighed and shook his head before addressing Taylor. “Do forgive her. She's… a bit new at this, very much like you. I’d introduce the rest of these gentlemen, but they don’t warrant your attention. If things go smoothly, they will be nothing more than spectators.”

 _‘Smoothly’?_ “Meaning?” Taylor asked. She could feel her hands clam up as the slab Krieg was standing on came closer. Eventually, it was near enough the ground for him and the two goons to jump off.

“Before I answer that, I’d like to ask you your name. Just as a common courtesy,” Krieg said as the platform slinked away, coming closer to Rune. It hovered above her and the rifleman, circling in place. Two of the biggest threats in one spot.

Taylor shook her head. “You said it yourself: I’m new. So I don't have one yet.”

“Really now?” he said, sounding pleased. “Very well. As to why we are here: we know about your visit into our territory a few days ago. Five members of our group in the hospital, two of whom are in intensive care.”

“They were criminals,” Taylor said, her mouth dry. “Would've killed a man if I hadn't stepped in.”

“And I can respect that, being as predisposed to doing the right thing as we are. _But_ ,” he added just as Taylor opened her mouth to reply, “that cur assaulted one of our own. The sister of the man you landed on, incidentally. They were merely handing out justice. Now—” he held up a hand as if to placate her “—the Empire isn’t necessarily upset with you. In fact, we can respect it: your efforts in contributing to the community.”

“Your point being?”

“My point is: we can offer you direction—and so much more.”

Taylor stared at him for a moment.

“You want to _recruit_ me?” _Crap_. _Cauldron wasn’t kidding._

“I admit, Iron Rain was a bit displeased by your conduct, but Kaiser _has_ spoken on your behalf. They have reached an accord after hearing you were of good stock yesterday.”

Taylor’s body went cold. “You—you people saw my face.”

“We did, and I apologize for that,” he said, nodding.

 _If they found out about me, then Mom might be in danger… fuck._ Taylor swallowed, feeling a lump in her throat. “Isn’t it against the unwritten rules to try and find out about a cape’s civilian identity?”

“Us seeing your face was mere happenstance. A byproduct of tracking your base down, I suppose. Rest assured, the Empire won’t take advantage of it.”

 _I think New Wave would disagree_. “How… how long have you known?” Taylor said, wishing she hadn’t left her cellphone inside the workshop. She needed to warn her mother, call the PRT, do _something_. Brandish had been caught entirely off-guard, and she had been a cape; what could her mother and Richard do? For all she knew, they were there right now, ransacking the place, a couple of goons holding her mother and Richard at gunpoint, just waiting for the call to come in—

“As I said before, it was a mere byproduct of tracking you down,” Krieg replied, interrupting her train of thought. “We would have preferred to greet you in a less… confrontational setting, but you seemed insistent on remaining inside your workshop. Otherwise, we would have arranged an earlier meeting during the week. Again, you need not fear anything untoward occurring: Kaiser takes the unwritten rules very seriously.”

 _Kaiser’s not the one running the show_ , she thought. All the same, she felt a little relieved by Krieg’s statement. They hadn’t confronted her going into her workshop, but coming _out_ , and she’d been inside her workshop all of yesterday and today. They could have only found out about her in the last couple of days at the most, otherwise they’d have jumped her long before. It still wasn’t okay by any means, but it wasn’t as bad as she’d feared. At the very least, they wouldn’t have her name or address—and wouldn’t know who her mother was either.

Small blessing perhaps, but she’d take anything in this situation.

“Either way, water under the bridge,” Krieg continued smoothly. “After all, if we’re going to be working together, we would need to know whom the other is anyway. As compensation for our mistake, I will show you my own face once we return to Kaiser to discuss your place with the Empire.” Krieg paused, his dark eyes boring into Taylor’s own. “That is, of course, should you decide to accept our offer.”

“Yeah? And if I say no?”

She needed to move _now_.

“I’m sure I can think of ways to persuade you,” Krieg said, putting his hands behind his back. “This workshop? It’s nothing compared to what the Empire can provide for you. Just think about it: being able to build to your heart’s desire—”

She breathed out. _You can do this, Taylor_.

“—and you don’t ever have to worry about materials. Parts, tools, anything you need. The Empire takes care of its own—and that would include you if you’d let us—”

 _Now!_

She flexed her feet sideways.

Her stomach shifted as she was thrown towards her right. Wind whistling and hair flapping sideways, her intended cover came closer—only for her foot to snag at the edge of a slab, making her flip over. She landed on her back with a _crack_.

 _Weaker propulsion than I was going for_ , she thought as Krieg and the thugs gave off varying sounds of surprise. At least she was still in cover.

“ _No!_ ” Krieg snapped. “No guns! We can still—”

She pulled out a blue-taped bomb as she scrambled to her knees. With one motion, she threw it at Rune.

It landed short—her throw was weaker than expected. She didn’t have the time to complain about it: her hand went for another concussion bomb at her belt—

Rune shouted, “The fu—”

The bomb exploded. Neither fire nor heat emanated from the blast. Instead, there was a clap of thunder, and a shockwave burst outwards in all directions, visibly warping the air around it—and engulfing Rune, the rifleman, and one of the thugs flanking Krieg in the process.

Each flew off in a different direction: Rune was sent flying away into the fence on the far side of the perimeter, collapsing it as she crumpled to the ground. The rifleman shot through a stack of wooden boxes, caving in a couple of them as he fell in a heap, and the thug flitted past Krieg and struck a stone slab, he too falling senseless. Even the other thugs were caught off-balance to varying degrees, and Taylor felt her hair twist and whip around as if caught in a stiff wind, and she had to brace her hand against the slab to keep upright. Strangely enough, Krieg remained unaffected, seeming just as unperturbed as before.

 _Oh wow,_ Taylor thought, her mouth agape as she took in the scene. _The blast radius is bigger than I—_

A loud _crack_ split the air, and Taylor was sent tumbling to the concrete, all thoughts about her tech gone from her mind. Her shoulder burned with agony, as though someone had driven a hot metal stake clean through it, and the sheer surprise of the pain left her unable to cry out.

 _W-what—_

There was another _crack_ , and what felt like a murderously hard punch buried itself into her gut, and she let out a gasp. More _cracks_ echoed through the air, and Taylor half-crawled, half-stumbled on her good side, moving towards another set of slabs. There was no plan or strategy behind it: pure animal instinct told her to just get _away_. She squeezed into a small gap between a pair of slabs, panting in short bursts, her shoulder and her gut throbbing all the while.

She put a hand against her abdomen, struggling to regain her bearings. Her gauntlet came away wet with blood, and she stared at it, before looking down, seeing the ragged bullet hole framed neatly over her stomach.

 _I’ve_ … _been shot?_

Another series of _cracks_ sounded, and Taylor flinched as the bullets whizzed past her, some pinging off the slab next to her and peppering her with flecks of concrete. There was someone up top she hadn’t noticed, and with a gun strong enough to drive straight through her armor.

 _Fuck... fuck, fuck!_

Her breaths came out as a wheeze. Short and noisy. It only served to amplify the throbbing—every breath and heartbeat sent a flare of agony throughout her body. Already she could feel a dizziness in her head. She staggered upright into a crouch, the slabs on either side of her providing cover.

 _N-need to get away!_

Her head whipped towards the side.

The fence? Too far. She turned towards the wall of the warehouse, taking out the disintegration gun, and pulled the trigger.

The effect was instantaneous—a hole, a meter wide, appeared, revealing the dark interior of the warehouse. One motion put the gun back in its holster.

She bent her feet again, and her stomach shifted as she shot forward into the warehouse. Dust billowed as she skidded to a halt on her knees, the sound of metal scraping against the tile floor painfully loud and setting the hairs on the back of her neck upright. She was in the middle of the room, not all the way on the other side as she’d aimed for. Again, she’d fallen short of her intended destination.

 _Krieg’s doing it somehow_ , she thought, her head spinning.

“You—check Rune.” Krieg’s voice was coming from outside the gap she’d made—and growing louder as he approached. “The two of you, over there. Ian, Adam, to me.”

 _Fuck!_

She moved to stand up again, her arm straining with effort—only to gasp and double over. She could barely feel the fingers on her left hand. Droplets of blood seeped from her wounds and fell on the floor. She bit down on her teeth, suppressing another gasp of pain, and she pushed off with her good arm to rise to her feet.

The world tilted, seeming as wobbly and unbalanced as she felt. It took a half-second for her to notice that she was still hyperventilating.

 _Breathe easy, Taylor._ Hard to do so when it felt like something was squeezing her chest. She snapped her head around—and regretted the action as her vision doubled. The dizziness was steadily growing worse.

 _Where do I_ —

There was a solid _whump_ and an enormous crashing sound over by the impromptu entrance she had made. Taylor whirled around towards it, seeing something big that was moving _fast_ —

 _SHIT!_

She flexed her feet—started to move away. Too late.

The slab struck her as it flew towards the far side of the wall. There was horrible crunching noise, and she screamed in agony as she was sent spinning uselessly away, tumbling over and over before finally coming to a halt. The slab itself smashed through the opposite wall in a cacophony of shattered concrete and exploding sheetrock. Taylor paid little attention to that, focused only on the white-hot pain that radiated out from her knee, tears streaming down her face as she panted, scarcely able to keep herself from screaming again.

She looked down to survey the damage and wished she hadn’t, the sight making her stomach heave. Her leg was bent at an unnatural angle, the metal of her leg armor fused into a snarled tangle around her knee. The metal pole miraculously was still somewhat intact, and she let out another scream as she forced herself into a half-crouch, the metal pole and the crumpled armor plates acting as a brace to keep her shattered leg together.

 _Can't stay here_. _Got to… gotta get away._

 _Pops_ echoed inside the empty warehouse's interior, and bullets went _whizzing_ past her again.

She gritted her teeth as she did her best to duck low even as her body protested. A _ping_ on her armor as a bullet grazed it. Blood smeared on the tiled floor in front of her. Dirt, dust, and even more blood on her visor.

 _D-don’t focus on it. Bullets_ — _where?_

Despite the haze she was in, she saw who was shooting at her: it was four… no—two thugs at the window entrance—

 _I’m going to die_.

Blood rushed to her head as she pulled out another concussion bomb, her injured arm hanging limply at her side.

 _Just pistols. C-can handle. Krieg first_ —

She pushed the button, hearing the click as it primed, and drew her hand back, trying to ignore how her body protested. With gritted teeth, she threw the grenade towards the impromptu entrance—towards Krieg.

It barely got past a meter away from her hand when it exploded.

What amounted to a human-sized hammer struck her all at once, as if she’d run headlong into a brick wall. The metal of her armor groaned, the entire thing vibrating madly as she flew backwards.

A _crash_ , windows breaking—she saw streetlights and the night sky. Her body rattled inside her armor as she landed on the asphalt, flipping over a few times before coming to a stop by the gutter.

She gasped—then curled into a fetal position, coughing and spluttering. All the while, her sight started to dim at the edges.

 _No_.

Bracing her good arm against the ground, Taylor tried to push herself up.

She let out a whimper as her whole body _screamed_ —the burning sensation multiplying, the pounding in her gut and shoulder as blood oozed out, her broken leg, needles of searing pain stabbing her entire body—wave after wave.

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes as she kept pushing with her arm. The agony across her body grew, and she let loose another gasp as she felt increasingly light-headed.

 _I should have paid more attention to push-ups_ , she mused, the nonsensical thought coming unbidden. She giggled nervously for a moment, at the sheer absurdity of the situation. _H-how did I end up here?_

Her arm started to buckle.

 _No_! she thought, shaking her head to clear her mind. _Don’t fall_. She stared at her arm as she pushed, _willing_ it to stay firm. _Don’t you fucking fall_.

Finally, with a grunt of effort, she propped herself up into a sitting position, her legs splayed. The darkness at the edges of her vision was still growing. She felt completely out of it, so _tired_. It was tempting—it would just be so easy to lie back down and close her eyes, just go to sleep—

 _C-can’t_. _Have to… have to stay awake_.

She forced herself to focus on her breathing, to do _something_ to keep herself from passing out. _Inhale, exhale. Breathe in two, hold, breathe out two. Breathe in two, hold, breathe out…_

For several seconds, she did nothing else, going through the same breathing pattern she’d learned for her running. _I can breathe_ , she thought, taking in lungfuls of air even as her chest burned.

It was a world of difference from before, when she could barely take a full breath. She could almost feel it circulating throughout her body, and she felt a little better now, even with her body wracked with pain as it was.

Shouts sounded in the distance—out over on the side of the building.

 _They won’t fucking stop_.

She pulled out a sonic bomb. _Can’t get caught inside_. _Not again._

Without waiting for them to round the corner, she pushed the button and threw it—then flexed her good foot.

Sparks flew off as her burster dragged her across the asphalt, but she needn’t have bothered: the sonic bomb didn't prematurely set off. Instead, it arced over the fence and landed on the grass—just as the two thugs rounded the corner.

Like the concussion bomb, there was no heat, no light. Instead, a deafening high-pitched sound sliced through the air like a thousand nails being scratched against a blackboard all at once. The two thugs crumpled to the grass, clutching at their ears and screaming incoherently.

She paid them no mind, turning away as she slowly dragged herself on her good arm and leg away from the building.

 _N-need to get out_.

She didn’t stand a chance trying to escape like this. At the same time, the burster was a no-go from this position: it’d only push her back towards the building—where Krieg and the others were. Slowly, still aware of the aches across her body, she began to shuffle around, looking for anything that could be an exit, or at least some place to hide. Something, anything…

 _There_.

There was an alley behind her, past the intersection. A decent distance away, but nothing a few bursts wouldn’t take care of. She just needed to rotate a bit more—

Movement. Top of the warehouse. She looked up, squinting, focusing her eyes past the blood and grime that marred the visor’s surface. Then she realized what she was seeing.

It was _him_. The rifleman, out on the ledge of the building, the one she’d hadn’t noticed earlier—the one that had shot her. She froze, staying stock-still, hoping that he wouldn’t notice her in the dark.

No such luck. The metal plates of her armor gleamed in the darkness, and she might as well have worn a neon sign on top of it for the good it did her. A cry escaped her lips as he raised the rifle, sighting in on her. She activated the burster again, not caring where it took her, just anywhere from _here_.

Bullets bit into the ground as she came to a stop, and she flexed her foot again to burst. She burst yet again when she came to a stop, the rifleman finding it difficult to keep track of her moving like this, his rounds trailing behind her. With each burst, the mouth of the alley came closer still.

 _Only a couple more_ —

Just before the next burst, something slammed _hard_ into her chest, a lance of searing heat going through her front to back. She collapsed onto her side, the sensation making her open her mouth wide to inhale—

But, no air came to her. Bullets ricocheted off the asphalt ground, but it was almost a distant concern to the fact that she couldn’t _breathe_. There was another impact, this one right through her upper arm, just below her injured shoulder, and then another through her thigh. After a couple more shots—one just barely grazing her helmet—the fire stopped.

 _Wha-what?_

She could barely think, could barely process what was happening. Her whole body was a morass of pain all bundled together, and she couldn’t tell anymore where it began and where it ended. The darkness was setting in again, and there was a horrible deflated sensation inside her as she struggled for air. Each intake was harder than the last, labored and anemic—

 _No!_

She rolled over on her side, her body protesting in agony. The rifleman was still where he was before, now just a black blob in her vision. The disintegration gun was in her hand, drawn almost without conscious thought on her part. The pain was a distant thing now. Bullets whizzed past her again, and another buried itself into what felt like her leg—or it could have been her face for all she knew. She could hardly feel anything either way. The gun wobbled unsteadily in her hand, sights and sounds dimming as the world narrowed to a pinprick, with just the shaking sights of the gun and the black blur that was her target—

She pulled the trigger.

The bullets stopped immediately as a chunk of the roof disappeared—as well as the lower half of his leg. The rifleman fell back, screaming, the rifle slipping from his grasp and tumbling down the side of the building. He managed not to fall into the hole her gun made, but his remaining foot was dangling at the opening.

Her eyes caught movement at the corner of the building again. Krieg. Or the goons. Maybe both. Everything was starting to become a blur—

She let her instincts guide her gun arm towards him—them—whoever—and fired.

Again—screams. Incoherent. Loud and shrill, piercing the air. Was there more than one? She didn't care. She needed to leave. It was hard to breathe, each inhale more difficult than the one before. It was Krieg’s power; or it could be a bullet in the lung. At this point, she’d lost track.

 _Need to get away. C-can’t let him get close again_.

Taylor crawled along an arm and leg, turning a few degrees clockwise, and bent her good foot.

She skidded on the asphalt, sparks flying around. Little white lights. Her teeth rattled on the uneven ground. She tumbled a bit before gently hitting a wall. Or it might have been not so gentle; sensation was fleeing her body, and she could hardly feel her hands and feet now. She forced herself up against it and looked around. A long and narrow pathway greeted her—

 _Alley_.

It was something of a reprieve for now. Before Krieg came back to finish the job.

Another burst sent her inside the alley. It was pitch black inside, or her vision was going. Either or. She sat up against the wall, her hand shaking as she reached out to her utility bag, her good hand still firmly grasping the gun. She rummaged blindly inside, her hand wet and slick with blood, until it grasped something flat and rectangular.

Her burner phone. The only numbers on it were the PRT hotline and Armsmaster’s number. She pressed the button with a trembling hand, smearing blood across the surface, and she looked down to make sure it was on speaker.

He picked up before the first ring was done.

“ _Armsmaster speaking. Who is this?_ ”

She opened her mouth to say something, only to realize, _I never told him my name_.

“I-I’m—” She coughed and spat out blood, some of it pooling inside her helmet. Her voice was hoarse and scratchy, nothing like how she normally sounded. “The ti-tinker. The other day with—with your bike. H-help.”

There was a brief pause before something sounded off in Armsmaster’s end. The revving of an engine. “ _Miss, stay on the line. I’m tri_ —”

 _Just get Krieg_. _If he cat-catches me._

“— _angulating your position. Stay with me_.”

There was a sense of urgency in his voice, even when he spoke levelly at her. That was nice. She didn’t know why, but it comforted her.

She let the hand that held the phone down but kept a firm grip on her gun with the other, fighting to keep her eyes open. She wasn’t about to keel over once Krieg showed his face. She wasn’t going down without a fight.

 _I c-can do this all day_.

Her vision was dimming even faster than before. Her head ducked low. Too tired. Someone was speaking. Was it Armsmaster? Did Krieg find her? The sounds blurred together with her sluggish heartbeat, her wet breaths. She could hear someone calling her name, distant and distorted as if coming from far away.

 _Dad?_

Taylor closed her eyes as the darkness overtook her.


	4. Origin 1.4

“… not under anything else?”

The first thing Taylor noticed was the smell of the conditioned air—cool and stale. Her eyes fluttered open, then closed shut. Too bright. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust, only then did she open them again.

Still bright—not to mention blurry.

Her hand moved towards the side to feel for her glasses when a girl’s unfamiliar voice spoke beside her.

“No, you don’t have to worry about that.”

Someone removed their hand from her face, and Taylor had to stop herself from jumping from the bed. She hadn’t even noticed someone was touching her.

Even with everything blurry, Taylor could make out a person wearing a red scarf and a hood. “To the point,” the girl said, her tone business-like. “I’ve flushed the morphine from her system. Better for her to have clear thoughts once the naloxone fades away. Especially with present company.”

_ Who _ —

Someone squeezed Taylor’s hand, beckoning.

She didn’t have to squint or blink to recognize her mother’s dark, wavy hair and slender figure. On Annette’s free hand was something small and dark. No need to even squint: it was her glasses.

She accepted them as she pushed herself into a sitting position and put them on.

Her surroundings focused, textures sharpening, edges defining. Sunlight streamed in through the windows on the side, casting the room with a mid-afternoon glow. Apart from her own, three other beds lined to the right, each with its own arrangement of contraptions and devices. The pulled-back curtains showed no other patient apart from her.

The girl who was touching Taylor’s face earlier was at her side, scarf, and hood hiding her face except for her dark eyes. Annette and Richard were by her side, opposite from the girl and at the foot of her bed stood Armsmaster and—

Taylor froze.

_ Mom and Armsmaster—in the same room? _

Her train of thought stopped as she found herself wrapped in her mother’s arms, the scent of vanilla heavy on Taylor’s nostrils. Richard was behind her mother, a somber expression on his face, and wearing his usual dress shirt and khakis.

Taylor wasn’t sure what prompted it, but she returned the gesture, burying her face into her mother’s shoulder and squeezing just as hard.

It was a familiar yet alien sensation, being hugged like this, but all the same, it felt good.

Minutes had passed by until her mother pulled away. Reluctantly, Taylor let her. Her mother’s hand found hers afterwards and squeezed.

Someone shifted at the foot of Taylor’s bed, drawing her eyes towards a man in a navy-blue suit. Whatever feelings she got from her mother’s embrace came crashing down like broken windows. “W-what—”

“Stop,” the girl said, holding a hand up.

The girl had spoken to Richard, who was standing now. “I’ll see you at a later time.” Her eyes shifted to the suited man. “I prefer being paid with a bit of privacy.”

Frowning, Richard’s eyes flickered between the suited man and the girl. “I—alright,” he said. “Again—thank you for coming on short notice.”

The girl waved him off, the gesture looking more like she was shooing him. “It’s nothing. If there isn’t anything else, I have places to be.”

Richard nodded, and the girl took that as a cue to leave, her long overcoat flapping behind her as she left without closing the door, though it seems like there was someone standing guard outside seeing as the door closed with a soft _click_.

“What’s going on here?”

Everyone turned to stare at Taylor in sync. Any other time, she would have wilted at the attention. Too many eyes all at once. But she felt left in the dark. Why was Armsmaster _and her mother_ in the same room? Taylor had a guess, but she didn’t like whatever her mind was suggesting.

_ Let me be wrong,  _ please.

The suited man cleared his throat. “Your stepfather hired a healer, Miss Hebert.” Taylor’s heart leaped at the casual mention of her name.

She forced her face to remain neutral as she said, “Who are you?”

“Director James Renick,” the man said. He gestured behind him. “You’ve met Armsmaster before.”

Her eyes flickered to the hero. She took a deep breath and exhaled before saying, “I have.” She shook her head. “Why is my mother here?”

He inclined his head, a neutral expression on his face. “You were injured, Miss Hebert. Luckily, Armsmaster was in the area when you called. He brought you here, to Brockton Bay General Hospital, and we identified you from a missing person’s report your mother filed a few days later.”

Taylor tried to speak, but the words died in her throat. It felt like the entire room was closing in on her, made it harder for her to breathe. Her eyes darted between the director and Armsmaster, unsure on who to focus on.

“Y-you outed me.”

“To your parents, yes,” the director said, inclining his head. “The healer wasn’t one of ours, however.”

That was worse. _Way_ worse than being outed to her mother.

Taylor’s head snapped towards Annette.

Again, she struggled to get words out of her mouth. After a few tries, she found her voice—hurt and raised, “And you couldn’t just wait until I _woke up_?”

“I know how this might look to you,” Annette said, her voice low, “but you were gone for four days straight, Taylor. I-I-I called Zoe, called the school—even Sabrina, and none of them saw you at all. When I received the call from the PRT—heard how h-hurt you were, I asked Richard to call Epione.”

Zoe? _Sabrina_? Taylor’s stomach dropped. Did she even still have a secret identity anymore? How much did those two know? How much did the school now?

Taylor wanted nothing more than to ask about Zoe, but the last name was more jarring. _Epione_.

“A stranger,” was all she said.

“A healer,” her mother said. “You know we couldn't leave you like that, Taylor.”

She did. But that didn’t make it easier to handle. Healer or not, they could’ve…

She stopped at that and backtracked.

_ A healer _ .

Images of the previous fight sprang into her mind. The desperation, the smell of blood and dirt and dust, the unimaginable _pain_ she was subjected to. She thought she could still feel the white-hot bullets as they went through her armor like a hot knife through butter.

Taylor looked at her hand—and saw nothing at all. Nothing that said she had been injured. No sign she'd been in a fight, her skin smooth and unblemished.

Everyone else was quiet, but Taylor didn’t ask why. She didn’t care at that point. She needed to check—

With one motion, she pulled the bedsheet off, and her mother’s hand from hers in collateral.

The hospital gown she was wearing was long, but she could clearly see that her leg was fine now. Both of them. She could almost imagine how it looked like before, bent in the wrong direction, the armor’s skeleton barely adequate to help her stand before she blew herself up.

Slowly at first, she cupped her face, then her shoulder, then her chest and stomach. Each cup only making her check the next thing faster.

It was all fine. No trace amounts of pain. No scars. It was as if she’d dreamt it all.

She let out a breath as her heart galloped.

_ Think _ , _Taylor_. Think.

On one hand, she’d been healed. No need to worry about being a cripple for the rest of her life. And to be frank, she felt really, _really_ good. Better than all her life. Her limbs were light, her mind sharp. On the other, she’d been outed _twice_ —three times more depending on how much her mother had told Zoe, Sabrina, and the school.

Annette had been worried, Taylor knew. But all the same, blood rushed to her head as she gritted her teeth.

Her mother’s eyes met hers for a moment, and Taylor looked away.

She needed to get out of here right now. Away from everyone. Get some distance from all this. As she was, she wouldn’t be able to stop being pissed.

Her eyes darted at the door, then at the windows. Only those two exits. Fuck—

“Taylor, please, calm down,” her mother urged. She must’ve realized what Taylor wanted to do.

_ Am I that easy to read? _

Taylor clenched her hands as she thought about her options—or her lack thereof. Trying to get to the door was out of the question. She’d have to go through her mother and Richard to get there, and the troopers outside would stop her from getting far—if she could even get past Armsmaster. Between his power armor and her own lack of tools on hand, it was downright impossible to do anything with him in the room.

In short, she was trapped. Cornered. Forced to confront another issue without as much as a warning. No straight answers for escape.

Panicking, however, wasn’t one of the solutions. Her mother was right—she needed to calm down.

She let out a slow breath, trying to get the tension out of her shoulders, force herself to relax.

It didn’t work.

“I-I wouldn’t have allowed them to do it—talking to you like this,” her mother explained, fidgeting her hand. “But the Empire Eighty-Eight—they might try to do something, and I-I—”

_ The Empire Eighty-Eight _ . Taylor had almost forgotten about them. Even if she got out of this in a way she wanted, Iron Rain and her supporters still loomed ahead.

It wasn’t as if this was the first time they’d done this before either. They’d shown in the past they’d go after a cape’s civilian identity if they thought they could get away with it. Independent capes who’ve crossed them were the likely victims—most of the time by running them out of town.

If Taylor wanted to stay in Brockton Bay, she’d have to join a group or align herself with the PRT.

Taylor gritted her teeth, looking anywhere but the people in the room. Her mother was still speaking in that low voice of hers, talking as if Taylor was about to explode on them, unaware that her words were bouncing off—not registering in Taylor’s head.

No loopholes. At least, none she could think off the bat.

Worst of all, she was mostly to blame for getting herself into this mess. If she’d joined the Wards, she wouldn’t be in this situation.

The stray thought brought Cauldron back to her mind. Was this the reason they called her—asked her to join the Wards? Did they know she was about to be attacked and acted accordingly? She didn’t think they would. What was a client like her to them, anyway? Or it might be the other way around. They let things devolve into this so she’d have no other choice than to join.

_ Stop _ , she scolded herself. _No sense in getting paranoid over stuff_.

“Talk to us, Taylor,” her mother implored, leaning close.

Taylor’s lips thinned. _Not like I can do anything else_.

“I-if you’re still angry at us, you can talk to them,” her mother gestured to the director and Armsmaster. Richard behind Annette nodded his head like a lost puppy. “They wanted to speak to me, but I-I wouldn’t let them—not until you were healed.”

“Fine,” Taylor said, her voice flat. She glanced at the director. “What do you want?”

“To talk about your options, Miss Hebert.”

Taylor nodded stiffly. She guessed as much.

The director continued, “I’m sure you already know what the first option is—to come in under PRT protection.” Taylor nodded again. “If I may say, it is the best option if you’re planning on continuing what you were doing. You'll have the option to either join in with the Wards or the Initiative. Both obviously come with our resources and support, but it’s your prerogative on which to sign up with. Assuming you do.”

The Initiative wasn’t even an option. She didn’t get powers for money, it was to become a _hero_.

Taylor nodded again. “Second option?”

“The second is to leave the city.”

Taylor shook her head without even thinking about it. “No.”

It was the director’s turn to nod his head. “I expected that you wouldn’t want to.” The plastic chair creaked as he leaned back. “I’m afraid that those are the only options I can offer, Miss Hebert. The Empire Eighty-Eight knows to leave any PRT-aligned parahuman well alone and—”

“And if I don’t join? You’d leave me to die? Is that it?”

“No,” Armsmaster said, speaking for the first time since Taylor awoke. “We don’t leave aspiring heroes to the wolves, and I think we’ve done a good job on that front. But you were based on _their_ territory.” He shook his head. “The PRT is fast, as is my team but we can’t be everywhere. As it was, you were _lucky_ we were already in the area when you called. If we’d arrived any later, you would’ve bled out in that alley.”

Taylor’s stomach churned as her face stiffened.

The director rubbed the back of his hand. “Just so, Miss Hebert. I’m sorry that it’s come to this, but if there were other viable options, I would have gladly told you.”

She glanced at her mother and Richard, both of whom had been silent this whole time. “Why aren’t you two saying anything?”

“It’s your decision to make, Taylor,” Annette said. “It’s going to be what you’re doing for maybe the rest of your _life_. A-as much as I would want to, I can’t decide for you.”

Taylor looked away. _Of course, she’d say that_.

As usual, Richard was quiet beside Annette, hand on her knee. Taylor made a point not to look at it as she said, “And you?”

He glanced behind him, then at her. “Me?”

Taylor didn’t reply.

He rubbed the back of his head. “Anne was adamant we let you choose—no matter what I—” he shook his head “—what _we_ might think is best.”

Taylor’s eyes narrowed. “And what _do_ you think is best?”

He opened his mouth to say something, but Annette cut through him, saying, “Leaving it all behind.” He sagged as he nodded. “Start a new leaf, move to a different city, and stop putting yourself in _danger_.” Annette grasped Taylor’s hand again. Her mother glanced around, looking embarrassed but didn’t let go. Her voice was more controlled as she said, “Whatever your decision, I’ll stand by it but I want you to at least have _some_ semblance of safety. I can’t let you go out there all by yourself again.”

So, he let her mother speak for him again. Then again, he never was one to meet Taylor head-on. Always quiet in these confrontations, letting Annette do all the talking, hovering over her shoulder like a damned ghost.

“Seems to me,” Taylor started coldly, “that the decision’s already been made.”

“You can still walk away, Taylor,” her mother said, her tone imploring.

_ I can’t _ , Taylor thought as she shook her head.

“Why? Please— _help_ us understand.”

Taylor didn’t say anything, choosing instead to look at the windows, but her mother did raise a good question: why _didn’t_ she want to leave the city?

Because all the risks she’d gone through would have been moot? She took a lot of it—from taking that leap of faith at her first meeting with Cauldron to risking her life by taking the vial. Leaving would mean everything she’d done until then would be all for nothing.

But… that wasn’t it.

Was it because she was afraid Cauldron would kill her for leaving? Or something less extreme—take away her powers? Walking away would mean defaulting on the Doctor’s favor, and Cauldron had been clear they’d do either or both if she bailed out.

_ _ _ No _ , she thought. Cauldron wasn’t even a factor here. They were a means to an end. A dangerous and powerful one, but they weren’t the reason she couldn’t just leave the city or heroing altogether.

“Taylor?” her mother asked, her voice quiet.

“I-I’m thinking,” Taylor replied. The answer was close, she could almost grasp it. She just needed time. She glanced at them both, her mother and the director. “I can still do that, right?”

Her mother nodded. “Yes, dear.”

The director inclined his head as he leaned forward. “I know this isn’t an easy decision to make. Take your time to think it through.”

Taylor nodded. She hugged her knees close to her chest and put her arms on top, then buried her head into her arms. She heard people shifting over in their positions as she went back to her thoughts.

Not Cauldron. Not even because she was fond of the city itself.

_ It's because of Dad _ .

It was obvious now she thought about it. Her dad wouldn’t have left the city, wouldn’t have abandoned the Dockworker’s Association, even as trying to land people jobs became harder, even when the shipping industry tanked further after the Endbringers started hitting harder.

Had he been alive, he would have fought tooth and nail for Brockton Bay. Even with the likes of the Empire Eighty-Eight gunning for him, he wouldn’t have backed down. He would have weathered through it. Joined in with whoever threw their lot with him and pulled through the obstacles.

Even if those people stabbed him in the back. Even if it’s the PRT and his own wife.

There was a low murmur at the foot of her bed—the director and Armsmaster. She resisted the urge to look at them, choosing instead to tighten her grip on her knees.

Taylor couldn’t understand why the PRT would just out her like this. What did they stand to gain? What little interaction she had with Armsmaster should have let them know she didn’t want her mother to know about her cape life. Had they thought with Annette knowing her secret, she’d force Taylor into the Wards? It was possible, but it didn’t add up to what she knew about the PRT.

Meanwhile, it was the complete opposite for her mother. Taylor had lived long enough with Annette to know what’s going on in her mother’s head, and that was why it hurt so much. Her mother wasn’t in the wrong here, Taylor knew it, but Annette could have stopped to think it through before calling the rogue.

Taylor would have even allowed it. Had they asked her if she wanted to be healed by Epione, she wouldn't have said no.

The more she thought about it, the more she realized that it wasn't the fact that she'd been outed that angered her, it was the fact that she had no say in it.

It was the same with the PRT. That the PRT just up and called her mother like that, without waiting for her to wake up and actually give consent first… troubled her.

Would they do that if she joined as well? Get behind her back to get what they want?

Her lips thinned. If she was going to do this—join the Wards—she wanted at least a bit of agency in how she did things.

She raised her head. The director and Armsmaster were speaking in low tones, though only the latter saw her. He turned away and continued to speak with the director. Meanwhile, Richard's head was resting on her mother's shoulder as neither spoke a word.

"I'm joining." The words left her mouth before she'd even braced herself up for it.

Everyone turned to look at her again. And Taylor made a point not to look at Annette. She couldn't be able to bear it, seeing the hurt on her mother's face.

The director nodded. "Very well, we can—"

"Wait," Taylor interrupted. Surprisingly enough, the director stopped. "I'll join the Wards, but I have… conditions."

He paused, then inclined his head. “We can provide that—but it depends on what those conditions are, you understand?”

"Sure. I-I want to move out—stay at base.”

Annette and Richard looked at her, eyes wide and mouths agape. Her mother’s grip on her hand tightened as they both struggled to say something, but Taylor continued on.

“And I don't want them to get any detailed update on me. If it's possible, I want it to be at my prerogative.”

“Taylor, _wait_ ,” her mother said as she grabbed at Taylor's elbow. Annette’s voice broke as she continued, "Don't do this."

The director frowned at Taylor. “Those conditions _are_ doable,” he started.

Annette whipped her head towards him, looking betrayed, her mouth open and closing as she again fought to get the words out of her mouth.

“But think about this more thoroughly,” the director said. “You’d be punishing your mother for doing what mothers do when they see their _child_ get hurt. As a parent myself, I— _please_ reconsider.”

Taylor looked away from him, suddenly interested in the texture and pattern of the bedsheet. “Fine,” she said. “But I still want to move out.”

The director gave Annette a look before saying, “Even then, Miss Hebert, it’s still not something the PRT can decide. I’m sorry, but unless your mother and stepfather have been abusive in any way, our hands are tied. You have to get their consent.”

“Taylor,” her mother blurted, her pale face losing even more color, “you can’t.”

“You said you’d stand by whatever decision I made,” Taylor said, her voice low and looking down. “Were you lying then?”

“ _No_ , of course not,” Annette said, shaking her head. “You, of all people, should know I wouldn’t do that—about why your choice matters to me. But if you have to leave home for it, I-I—I don’t think I can do it.” Her mother sounded resigned at the end.

Her temple pounded as she took a shaky breath and started to clench her fists again. She couldn’t trust herself to speak evenly then, so she stayed quiet for a few seconds. When she calmed down, she said, "It's been a long time running, to be honest. I-I—Even you can see I wasn't happy, living with you both." The look on Annette's face made breathing harder for Taylor, so she looked down. "I love you, still. Despite everything. But I just…” She paused, not knowing what to say. “I need a break. Look at things from the outside."

"Taylor, _please_." The grip her mother had on her elbow tightened.

"It won't be permanent," Taylor continued, ignoring the stinging pain as the grip turned vice-like. "It'll just be until I gain some perspective on this."

"But—"

"You _wanted_ me to choose, Mom," Taylor said, staring at Annette's eyes.

Her mother shook her head. "Not like this. We can still work this out. We can talk this through. Just-just please—don't limit our time together to token visits.” Annette looked at Taylor and Richard. “We can still fix this."

_ We barely even talk at all. _

Taylor shook her head. " _Please_ , Mom," she said. "Let me do this."

It was subtle, but something broke in Annette then. The fight left her mother's shoulders as Annette lowered her eyes, her grip loose as her hand shook. She turned away, taking her hand off Taylor’s elbow.

“ _Anne?_ ” Richard muttered beside her mother, frowning, his forehead lined with concern.

Annette shook her head, and they shared a look. His lips thinned as rubbed her back, not saying a word.

"If you're sure..." Her mother trailed off, offering Taylor the chance to change her mind.

Taylor nodded, looking down.

“What—” her mother started, but her voice cracked. She took a breath, then tried again, “What would we need to do?”

Taylor closed her eyes as the director, looking somber from the display, talked about paperwork. The documents they needed to procure, the schedules, Arcadia. She let it bounce off her, words blurring together.

She cautioned a glance at Annette, only to get caught in her mother’s eyes. Both of them turned away at the same time.

▼

Taylor couldn’t sleep.

She lay on the bed, staring at the white ceiling. It was more than a few minutes past twelve now if her counting was correct. She’d only seen the clock hanging on the wall outside her room a few minutes ago after the nurse came to check up on her.

Richard had them moved to a private room just after the talk with the director. The nurse had been adamant that Taylor couldn’t leave yet, even if she was fine now, all because Epione wasn’t trusted as much as an Initiative cape.

She turned to the side, burying half her face in the pillow.

The room had matte-gray floor tiles, a large window at the side, and some seats for visitors. From here, she could see the two prints that hung on the wall; a lone tree in the middle of a meadow with clear blue skies and a cascading mountain range in the background, and at the other end of the room, two people canoeing in a lake, framed by lush vegetation and tall trees, light shining on them both.

Excessive, considering Taylor was only staying for the night. Then again, she understood why they wanted it, rather than a public ward.

She flailed around the bed. Staying still too long made her feet tingle, so she had to move them around. Turning to the side didn’t help, nor did sleeping with her face down on the pillow.

_ This isn’t going to work _ .

She sat upright, careful not to wake Annette beside her, who’d fallen asleep recently, her head resting on the mattress. Meanwhile, Richard was nowhere to be seen. He’d left about an hour back, needing to take valuables for their stay in the hospital—including a change of clothes for Taylor.

She didn’t exactly want to be awake when he gets back—or even be in the same room as him, so she moved, jumping off the bed and kneeled beside it. Her lips thinned as she saw the fluffy slippers the nurse left for her, but took them and put them on, anyway. Beggars can’t be choosers, after all. She didn’t even need to tip-toe towards the door—the slippers were soft enough not to make much noise.

_ Point conceded, slippers _ .

She peered outside.

The hallway that greeted her had a lot less personality than her room. All white-tiled floor, pale-blue walls, and faux wooden doors. She had to squint for a few seconds to let her eyes adjust from her darkened room to the bright hallway.

No one was around at all. Not even the nurses.

Taylor bit her lip, then walked out.

The few nurses and orderlies that passed by didn’t bother with her, much to her relief. It gave her time to breathe, think about things.

She wanted to think about her future—what her circumstances would mean now that she was on a fast track to joining with the Wards, but her mind had other ideas.

_ I really should have asked Armsmaster if I _ … she trailed off, shaking her head.

Taylor had at least crippled one of them. Disintegrated his foot. She didn’t need a medical degree to know it was an injury grievous enough to kill if left untreated, and she was barely coherent when she pulled the trigger a second time—unaware of how many she hit or possibly killed. At that point, it had been an 'us versus them' scenario, and she couldn’t just up and die.

Given she'd been outnumbered and outgunned, and by criminals no less, it wasn't one of the worst outcomes. Most especially considering she got away with nothing to show physically.

_ Still, _ Taylor thought as she gritted her teeth and shut her eyes. _I’ll have to ask someone if I killed—for my peace of mind_.

“You just going to stand there or what?”

Taylor jumped and turned towards the voice.

A boy wearing a light blue jacket was seated on the only bench in the hallway, elbows on his knees, his fingers entwined. The light coming from the vending machine behind him cast an emphasizing glow on his messy red hair, making him look wiry.

He looked at her expectantly, his blue eyes bloodshot.

“Uh…” Taylor looked around the long hallway. Nobody here except them.

“Eloquently said, but yes, I _am_ talking to you.” The boy gave her a wry smile that made him look a bit unhinged.

Taylor’s eye twitched.

“And you’re kinda blocking _that_.” He pointed at her—or at something behind her. “If you could just…”

She looked back to see a door. At the top was the label ‘Surgery’ in bold red letters with a white background.

“Oh… oh!” She scrambled to move away as the boy smiled again, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Um, sorry.”

“Forget it. Just… scoot over, or sit down.” He gestured to the bench he was sitting on. "Whatever suits you.”

Her legs didn’t feel tired in the least, but she was far enough from her room to be able to get some headspace now.

Taylor leaned back against the wall beside the seat and sank to the ground, bringing her legs close to her chest, hugging her knees and buried her face in her arms.

She spent several minutes in that position, letting her mind wander off. Stray thoughts that led back to the PRT and her mother was nipped in the bud before it ever took off.

Fortunately, she knew just the topic that would put it all behind her: tinkertech.

_ Where to start? _

Saying her loadout was lacking was an understatement. While she thought prioritizing the skeleton, armor, and burster were correct decisions, she wondered if it was a mistake to create the gun or the bombs first rather than a sensor device. Sure, it was harder to make, she'd have needed precision tools and parts, but it also could have saved her from being blindsided by that ambush—

_ Change topic _ .

Sonic gun. She needed that to top with the sensor. That it was less lethal was a bonus. _And_ she'd need a less powerful energy source compared to the disintegration gun. Another point to it. And she'd definitely be able to cripple less people tha—

She butted her head against her arms and muttered, " _Dammit_."

Looking back up, she saw that the hallway was as deserted as before. The boy was casting a glance at the door now and then, absently running a hand through his hair.

"Rough day?" Taylor cringed. As if _that_ wasn't already obvious.

He looked up, startled. "What?"

She swallowed. This was a mistake. "Uh, nothing."

He _mmm_ 'ed at that, looking away. "Didn't sound like nothing."

"It was," she insisted. "Just forget it. Stupid question."

"If only I could scrub my brain like that," he said, shaking his head. "Instant improvement to life, I’d say. Sadly, I don’t have superpowers." He paused, looking her up and down. "But I think I see the appeal of a good distraction."

Taylor stared at him, then nodded. _Way_ better than stewing in her mind.

"Heard about what happened with the PRT in Miami?"

She grimaced. She did. Eerily similar to what happened to her, except that the independent-in-question hadn’t made it out alive. The local PRT was getting flak over it. Couple that with a lot of other things that made the city… what it was, it wouldn’t be long until _something_ happened that would tip the city’s problems in on itself. Didn’t help that the PRT there didn’t seem intent on actually doing stuff.

Not only that but the less she thought of the PRT, the better.

"No, sorry. Not intent on that topic."

"Ah," he said, his eyebrows raised, questioning. Thankfully, he didn’t pry. "You watch any shows?"

"Haven’t since I was young—and I’m not particularly interested now too."

His brows furrowed. “Video games?”

She shook her head.

"C’mon,” he said, looking peeved, “help me out here,”

"Um,” she started, feeling put on the spot, “how’s the weather?"

He stared at her. "It's midnight."

"Doesn't mean there's no weather. And it's a safe topic, all things considered."

He rolled his eyes. "I could have been struck by lightning on a bad day. For all you know, this could be a sensitive topic for _me_."

"Were you?" she asked, genuinely curious.

He whistled. "Way to ask a loaded question. Weren’t we supposed to be talking about _safe_ topics here?"

_ Crap _ . "Oh, uh, s-sorry," she stammered.

"Nah, I'm just f-joking with you,” he said as he grinned. “Honestly though, weather at midnight?”

Taylor crossed her arms. "Got us talking, didn't it? I’d say it's better than what you suggested."

He rolled his eyes. "Only because you're a minefield.”

" _What?_ " Taylor asked as she narrowed her eyes.

"Stepped on one."

"Really?" Taylor said as his eyes widened.

"Shit." He groaned, running a hand on his face. "Sorry. I, uh—couldn't resist."

Taylor didn't know what to say to that, so she stayed quiet.

He pinched the bridge of his nose as he sighed. "Old habits die hard, I guess."

_ Your old habit was being an ass? _ She didn't speak for several seconds, then realized _that_ was a habit of hers as well. Not that she could help it. She sighed. "I guess."

He smiled. "We agree on that one, at least."

Taylor only shrugged.

“Kinda makes me wonder what made you want to avoid stuff like that though.”

"Don’t feel like talking about it."

He looked up, then nodded. “Yeah, I can respect that.”

"And you?" she asked.

“Pass.” He glanced at the door for a moment, and suddenly, it clicked in for her.

"Okay," she replied, looking at the door as well. Her dad had been brought there too, years ago, and hadn't come back out. She eyed the boy out of the corner of her eye. He was likely in a similar position.

They left it like that. Neither one of them speaking. A few nurses went past by, some with nothing, some with either a patient in tow or pushing equipment towards the door.

"Hey."

Taylor looked back at him.

"What's your name?" he asked.

She paused, considering, then said, "Taylor."

He nodded. "Dennis. Erm… School? You look like my age."

"Arcadia."

He smiled briefly. "Same. Don't think I ever saw you before."

She only shrugged.

"Well, maybe we can—"

He stopped, his eyes looking at the door again. Taylor turned her head to see a doctor nodding at the boy—who was already standing up, his face turning as white as the doctor's coat.

"Have to go," he said as her heart skipped a beat.

He power-walked away, surprisingly fast. He reached the doctor in a heartbeat and they talked for a moment then disappeared as the doors swung shut, leaving Taylor alone beside the bench.

She sank down on the ground further as memories assaulted her mind. The doctor coming out of the surgery room, a somber expression on his face. Her mother telling her to stay as she rushed away from Taylor, the doors closing behind her and the doctor. The long wait, where time was glacial, not knowing anything. Annette coming back out with a haunted expression, not answering Taylor’s questions. The feeling of helplessness.

She ripped her eyes away from the door and observed the nurses and orderlies that passed by, then put her head on her arms again.


	5. Origin 1.5

This was probably what Hell was like.

“That leads to the training room; it doubles as a power-testing room as well. That’s where you’ll be testing your prototypes once the PRT gives you the go-ahead.”

Taylor nodded as she held her breath.  _‘How long is the waiting period for them to approve’_ —

“You do have good timing,” Miss Militia said as they walked along one of the hallways of PHQ. There was a hint of a smile behind that star-spangled scarf. And warm eyes. Taylor tried not to stare at them. “If the Wards were still in PRT HQ, your workshop would have been in your own room.”

_What do I say to that? ‘That’s great’?_

It sounded fake even in her own head. Maybe if she tweaked it a little… or maybe she could ask about—

Miss Militia suddenly turned, unconcerned at Taylor’s lack of response. That, or she had a very good poker face and actually hated Taylor’s guts. Either or.

Another turn. Dark-green energy flickered around the heroine before settling down into the form of a pistol, which she tucked into a holster, seemingly without thought.

Right. Need to reply.

She bit her lip.  _Maybe I can ask her where the Wards are at. No, that’s a dumb question—that’s where we’re_ going _, Taylor. Nah, maybe—_

Miss Militia turned, heading down another corridor. That wasn’t the reason why Taylor hadn’t managed to form a coherent reply; no, it was because—

The heroine turned again, down yet another corridor.

 _Okay, maybe a little bit,_ Taylor thought as they entered the elevator. This place was beginning to remind her more of a labyrinth than the headquarters for the local Protectorate branch. But, that was beside the point: she would need to memorize the layout.

It wouldn’t be a problem. Probably. Maybe.

She  _was_  going to be living here, after all.

Taylor didn’t notice the elevator stop, and was only informed of the fact when the doors opened and Miss Militia began to move again. She scrambled to follow, her heart galloping as Miss Militia led her down a one-way path. The entire left side of the corridor was all glass—heavily reinforced probably—and Taylor had to squint as the orange glow of the warm afternoon light shone on her face.

She looked out, into the vast expanse of the Atlantic, the sun's light turning it into a blender of pink, orange, and blue. Pressing her face against the glass, she could also see an oversaturated Brockton Bay at the far right, the refraction from the forcefield giving the city an almost kaleidoscopic look, cast in all the colors of the rainbow.

And here she thought it was the other way around: that Brockton Bay had a good view of  _it_.

 _Perspectives_ , _I suppose_ , Taylor thought as they neared the door.

“One moment,” Miss Militia spoke, leaning forward to let the security terminal scan her eye. The steel doors let out a  _click_  as they opened with a barely audible  _whirr_. “You’re already in the database, by the way. Just scan your eyes and it’ll let you through.”

Right. She was meeting her team. Not sight-seeing.

Taylor’s swallowed. “O-okay.”

“As I was saying,” Miss Militia said as they went through, “the entire area is modular. Speak with your team leader if you want to add a few extra touches yourself.” She gestured at somewhere inside the room. At the same time, one of the Wards lounging on the seats stood up and began to walk towards them both. “Bedrooms are down the hall. You’ll find that a few of your peers occasionally use them, but only two will use it to the same extent as you will.”

Taylor nodded, but most of her attention was on the approaching Ward—a blonde girl in a red costume, armor panels and all. Vermillion.

“Just to be clear,” Miss Militia said, bringing Taylor back to reality, “the Director  _has_  briefed you on your teammates, is that correct?”

“Yeah,” Taylor replied, looking up the high, dome-shaped ceiling as she rubbed her hands on her jeans.

How do they even keep this place as clean as it was? Taylor couldn’t see a single dirty wall and she knew for sure that ceiling was too high to use an extended mop for. Flying? Probably not. The thought of Challenger using his powers for janitorial duties was too absurd.

“Good.”

Vermilion caught up to them, saying, “Good evening, ma’am.”

“Good evening, Vermilion,” Miss Militia replied as she slowed her pace.

“You must be our new recruit,” Vermilion remarked. “You don’t have a name yet, right?”

_‘A few, but’—_

“I—uh, no. No.”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure PR will find you a good one,” Vermilion said as they neared the rest of the Wards.

Taylor’s pulse quickened.  _Calm down. Focus on the surroundings_.

Her eyes wandered over at the wall sections. Miss Militia wasn’t kidding. The walls looked like it could be taken off and rearranged whenever they pleased.

Would she be able to expand her room if she wanted, then? Not that she'd need to.

Seemed like they also had a meeting room _—_ or _area_ , going by the lack of walls and doors leading to it and a lounge at the middle of it all. Sofas and a table, a large TV because what would a lounge be without one, and a coterie of teenagers sitting on said couches—each looking at the three of them.

The golden swords hovering above did  _not_  help with the intimidation factor.

Taylor swallowed as she kept walking, sandwiched between Miss Militia and Vermilion, her escorts. A vague image of someone on death row flashed into her head. She shook it off.

 _They’re just teenagers_.

“I don’t like ‘em,” the only unmasked girl in the group said.  _Like what? Oh, right. Names_. “I mean, they wanted to name  _me_  Cut Lass.”  She shook her head. “Could you imagine me getting a lame-ass name like that?”

Solais. Her golden swords were distinctive enough that Taylor recognized her immediately, hovering high above the couches like a pack of very sharp vultures, each as long as Taylor’s forearm. The ceiling was well-lit enough that they almost seemed to blend into the off-white stucco walls.

 _Wonder how they would look in the dark_.

“The names they give to Tinkers are serviceable enough,” Miss Militia said, her tone light. “Vita from the Miami Wards. Hm. Metallum and Elixir didn’t get their own names as well. Also, you forgot to put your mask on again.”

“You know my policy on that.” Solais waved her hand. “Anyway, PR likes to slap on whatever sounds cool. Then you realize years later that your name's crap and you're stuck with it unless you want to fake your own death or something. You want a name that means something to you, at least.” The other Wards were staring at Solais, but she seemed unconcerned.

Taylor wasn’t surprised. Growing up a child celebrity would probably make you immune to scrutiny as well.

“That’s true,” Miss Militia said. “Ultimately, it falls down on your new teammate to decide what’s what.”

As they neared the group, Taylor could see the others in detail. Solais, in her hood and armor, was sitting with both her feet up on the table. Vista was also instantly recognizable. The eleven-year-old looked somewhat out of place considering how tiny she was compared to the rest of her team.

Ambient sounds coming from the TV caught Taylor’s attention. It was still on, showing a paused screen of some video game. A couple open bags of chips lay on the table, as well as a few cans of soda.

Vermilion gestured for Taylor to sit on the far end, just beside one of the boys. “You already know our names, yeah?”

Taylor nodded, sitting down as prompted.

“She’ll be staying here indefinitely,” Miss Militia said, holding a hand up at Vermilion, who gestured for the heroine to take a seat as well. “I’ve given her a quick tour, but I recommend you show her around in more detail after this, Solais.”

Solais straightened up. “Wha—why me? But I—” She sighed. “Sure, fine.”

“Oh, and before I forget—after giving your teammate the tour?”

The swords up high moved faster, like flies to food. If the flies were bigger and deadly sharp. “I’ve got nothing planned.”

“That’s good to hear,” Miss Militia spoke as she smiled. “I’m not in a rush, so take your time showing her around.” She looked at Vermilion. “I’ll leave you to it. Have fun.”

Taylor froze.  _She’s leaving me here? Alone?_

Miss Militia nodded at Taylor before she turned around, leaving Taylor to fend for herself.  _'Please stay,’_  she wanted to say. Instead, she watched Miss Militia’s figure disappear as the blast door closed.

As if sensing blood in the water, Solais’s swords bunched up, pairing themselves, flying straight at each other, and exploding in a mass of golden light. By the time they were done, there were six swords hovering above Solais, each as tall as Taylor and a couple times wider.

 _I wonder if I can get more readings out of those_.

“Awesome, aren’t they?” Solais spoke, grinning at Taylor.

_'I was’—_

“You say that every time someone even glances at the things,” the boy sitting beside Taylor said. Pure white costume, with some armor panels on. Clockblocker. He and Solais were the only ones on the team with full-body costumes.

“Not my fault you have the most boring power ever.”

“ _Boring?_  At least I—”

“Can we not do this again?” Vista pleaded, rubbing her forehead. “We’re here to welcome our new teammate, not to jab at each other.”

“Jab,” Solais said as one of the swords thrust at another high above them, eliciting sparks that disappeared before it showered them all.

 _A hardlight sword_ , Taylor thought. Retractable blade. The meat of the device is in the handle. Hm. Maybe too unwieldy to be done. The hardlight blade will also have no weight, so the chance of cutting herself on her own weapon is high. A gun seems more preferable—

“ _Show off_ ,” Clockblocker muttered as he slumped in his seat.

The blond-haired boy beside him spoke, “Your power’s great too. It’s not showy, but it’s plenty useful.” His costume was the least personalized out of all the Wards, wearing only a plain blue bodysuit with a PRT vest and black domino mask.

Taylor’s breath caught up in her throat. It was him. The one the Doctor warned her about.

As if she had just called his name out, his eyes snapped towards her. She looked down, aware of how much her heart was beating in her chest.  _Shit_.

“Speaking of useful,” Vista started, “we have a Tinker on the team now. Do you think we could beat LA with her around?” She turned to Taylor. “What even is your specialty?”

Taylor could still see Gallant at the corner of her eye.  _Forget about him. Focus on the question_. “I-I don’t know yet,” she said, her legs jittery. “It’s only been three months.”

“Some Tinkers find out within a week or so after realizing they have powers,” Vermilion said. “Others aren’t so lucky. Let's see… what have you made so far?”

“Skeleton for my armor. I’ve made it with a built-in propulsion device. Um, plate armor, concussion and stun bombs, and a…” She stopped.  _Should I…_  Taylor shook her head as she said, “A disintegration pistol.”

Trouble or not, the gun had saved her life. Even though she had no confirmed murders under her belt, it still was way too much trouble. She was almost happy to hand it over when the PRT confiscated it.

“Hm. Not much to go on,” Vermilion said. “Still, the fact that you managed that in three months all by yourself is impressive.”

Taylor’s face heated up, but she only shrugged. What was she to say to that without sounding vain? Then again, not speaking might make it seem she didn’t appreciate the compliment.  _Shit_ —

“Know what’s even more impressive?” Clockblocker said and continued without waiting for a reply, “Solais suddenly getting deep and all. What’s up with that? Trying to impress the newbie?”

Did they dislike each other or something? They’ve been sniping at each other since Miss Militia left.

“Suddenly? You of all people should know how deep I go, Clock.” She pulled both her arms in a thrusting motion.

“I-I—you… _what?_ ” Clockblocker stuttered, right next to Gallant, who had his eyebrows raised up high enough to vanish into his hair.

Vermilion was stone-faced as she said, “Alright, break it up.”

“He started it…” Solais muttered.

Vermilion ignored Solais and turned towards Taylor. “Sorry. Solais and Clockblocker can be a handful. You need a bit of, erm, adjustment to their personalities but they’re good kids.”

“Look, ma. An adult!” Clockblocker said as Taylor nodded, pointing at Vermilion, his other hand covering where his mouth was supposed to be.

Solais shook her head. “So juvenile.”

“ _I’m_ not the one headed for juvenile detention if I put one toe out of line.”

“Clock, a bit too far there, I think,” Vista said as Solais put a hand on her chest as if shot.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, too far, I guess.”

Taylor frowned at him. That felt kind of familiar. Did she know him from somewhere before?

Solais snickered, but Vermilion raised her voice, saying, “ _Anyway_ , Cobalt and Triumph are on patrol at the moment. They should be back in a few minutes, but we can’t exactly wait for them to show. So. That said, I do welcome you to the Wards. Officially.” She held out a hand for Taylor to take.

 _No turning back now_ , Taylor thought as she took Vermilion’s hand.

The older girl gave it a firm shake before reaching up to remove her mask. “I’m Crystal.”

“Victoria,” Solais said.

Unmasking? Likely a show of trust, but it was kind of lost since their families’ names were on public record. Even if they  _weren’t_  on public record, all of them triggered publicly. Stacked deck, and all that.

Clockblocker pulled his helmet off next, revealing a familiar nest of short red hair and blue eyes. Her mind went in sync with him saying, “Dennis.”

Taylor’s jaw dropped.

The benefits of a full-face helmet never cease to amaze her but now she wanted to remove herself from the room for a moment. Get a chance to breathe.

She hadn’t expected him to be here of all places—much less be one of her teammates. What the hell was she supposed to do now? Unmask, obviously. But what the hell was she supposed to say to him?

_I should have asked Miss Militia on what to do in cases like these—however unlikely. Too late for that._

Vista and Gallant were the last ones to remove their masks, and all thoughts of unmasking to her team went out the window.

“Missy,” Vista said, but Taylor wasn’t paying attention to her. She was looking at Gallant.

The boy gave her a small smile. “Dean.”

They waited, staring at Taylor and she stared at Dean.

Silence. But she wanted to say something,  _anything_.

She opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

_Think. What do I do? What do I say?_

Static.

Her legs started to feel jittery again. Won’t do. She forced them to keep still.

The others started to shuffle, looking at each other with disconcert.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to unmask,” Crystal said, trying to look reassuring. “Wards showing each other their secret identities is commonplace, but we can’t force you to if you don’t want to.”

Out of the corner of Taylor’s eye, she could see Dean peering at her.

Her stomach plummeted further. Emotion-reader. Of course, he knew how she felt. It must be plain as day to him, though she doubted that he knew why.

This was probably better for her, staying masked. She’d only seen him twice, but as far as she’s aware, he and his dad were close. And she knew that Vincent and Richard were good friends.

 _I left my life behind only for it to find_ me. She wanted to laugh at the absurdity. The coincidences and all that.

Crystal sighed, putting both hands on her hips and bringing Taylor back to reality. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have put you in this position.”

Taylor pinched at the leather seat. “I don’t—It’s not that I don’t—I mean, I  _want_  to do it, unmask, but I-I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. You really don't have to—”

“Are you for real?” Victoria spoke, making Taylor’s stomach drop all the lower. Victoria didn’t shrink as all eyes turned towards her. “What's the point of joining if you aren't even going to trust us?”

“ _Victoria_ ,” Crystal gritted out.

 _I expected this_ , Taylor thought as her head started to pound with her heartbeat. She stared at Victoria’s golden armor, the way they layered on top of each other. Continued to stare as she said, “Didn't the director tell you?”

“Oh, he did,” Victoria said, her face calm but her voice was all the indication that she was upset. “You don't see what's the problem here, do you? I’m not an advocate for full-on ‘accountability’ and all that bullshit—”

“That’s a little too much, Vic,” Missy said.

“—but come  _on_. You can at least give us your name and show your face.”

“Victoria,” Crystal gritted out. “We've talked about this. And I'm telling you to  _stop_.”

_Why does she care about this so much?_

“She's supposed to be a part of our team, and she's not even willing to trust us!”

“Better to let her be, Vic. It's not that important,” Dennis said.

“I-it’s not that I don’t trust you,” Taylor blurted out, her face burning. “It’s just—”  _Just what, exactly?_  She couldn't tell them  _anything_. “It's—it’s personal.”

Victoria rolled her eyes. “So, you don't trust us. Got it.”

 _‘I hardly_ know  _you!’_ The words were threatening to get out of her mouth. She wanted to defend herself, tell them  _why_. Instead, she gritted her teeth—hard enough that it might have cracked from the pressure.

“Vic, just drop it,” Dennis snapped.

 _I want to go home_ , the thought came unbidden. Impossible now. Annette had sold it way back then.

Crystal only pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. I’m dropping it. No need to bring down the hammer on me, cuz’.”

A band of red light flickered around Crystal; fast enough that if Taylor wasn’t already looking at the older girl, she wouldn’t have noticed.

“ _I_  am going to get dressed and get ready for home.  _You_ —” Crystal jabbed a finger at Victoria, “—on the other hand, are going to show her around the base, and the  _entire PHQ_. Tonight. You got that?”

“ _What?_  But I have to meet up with—”

“ _Miss Militia_  has told you she can wait. Likely for this reason. That’s my final word on it, Victoria. I’m going back home.”

Crystal pivoted on her foot and strode back towards one of the sectioned areas, disappearing behind the wall as she turned at a corner.

After that, silence reigned king yet again and Taylor only wanted to lie down, maybe get her head straight. And get away from Victoria’s glare.  _This was the reason why I didn’t want to join in the first place_.

“ _Right_ ,” Missy said, drawing the word out. “I’m going to change.”

“Same,” Dennis quickly said as both of them stood up. “You coming with, Dean?” he asked as he turned the game console and the TV off.

The blond boy was still peering at Taylor when he said, “Of course.”

Victoria and Taylor were silent as the rest of the team left.

_Why did Crystal think this was a good idea? Making Victoria give the tour is asking for trouble. She already hates my guts._

“Tell you what,” Victoria said, standing up and taking her mask off the table. The swords almost moved in sync with her, moving up as she did. Uncanny. “I'll save us both the time, and the blood and tears.”

“How?”

“We’re both saying that we did it, we toured around the base like besties and that we’re all fine and dandy.” She shrugged. “You can go do whatever it is you tinkers do and I can go to my appointment. Sound good?”

Taylor’s lips thinned, but she said, “Sure. Okay.”

“Good.” Victoria smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Glad we’re on the same page.” She walked a few steps towards the opposite side where the others disappeared from, swords trailing behind her, and stopped, turning back only a fraction. “Come on. We can hide in our rooms until the others leave.”

Taylor sighed and followed Victoria, trailing just behind her swords. They entered a short hallway with about ten doors, five on either side.

Victoria didn’t wait for Taylor to find her own room and disappeared with a slam of the door.

Didn’t need her anyway, since she immediately saw her own room—a door with the label ‘New Ward’ on top of it. The other doors didn’t have that distinction.

 _Of course_ , Taylor thought as she opened the door.

Unsurprisingly, it was spartan and small—well, smaller than her room back at the condo. The bed was buried into the wall to her left, drawers underneath where she could put her personal items in. What got her attention more was the workbench immediately in front of her. It looked almost the same as the one in her old base if smaller in size. Cupboards on top, even more drawers under the table, a stack of notebooks and another table beside it. The PRT also left her a computer and a tablet—that they left both turned on.

Taylor approached the computer, but not before running a hand on top of the workbench. The surface was smooth and with no scratches. Very new.

Despite the unpleasantness just a moment ago, Taylor couldn’t help but smile at the sight of it. If this was her workbench here, what else would it look like in her actual—

She jumped as a quick ring emanated from the computer. She glared at it before looking it over.

 **PHQ.Armsmaster:**  I need to speak with you.

 **PHQ.Armsmaster:**  Come to my workshop. The tablet has a map you can use.

 _Well,_ that _isn’t ominous_. Probably has something to do with her gun. He did say he wanted to look it over. Or maybe she was being called because of her disastrous meet up with her team.

Her palms turned clammy at the thought of meeting Armsmaster again.

She wanted to ask him a question. The one that has been bugging her since the hospital, but she wasn’t sure if this was a good time for it.

She shook her head.  _Head in the game, Taylor_.

Taylor made a quick reply and grabbed the tablet before turning around towards the exit.

▼

“Taylor. Sit on the bench, if you like,” Armsmaster said as Taylor entered the room.

Taylor tried not to fidget as she walked past various machines and tables towards the hero.

Then she stopped.

Armsmaster had his back to her, busy looking over at the bench where her disintegration gun lay. No, that wasn't what stopped her: it was the fact that he looked like he was unmasked.

Taylor squinted.  _Oh my god, he definitely doesn’t have a mask on_.

“I heard you had a disagreement with one of your team,” he said, looking her over.

“Kind of. Yeah,” she replied, picking at a loose patch of paint on the bench she sat on.  _‘Also, why are you unmasked?’_  she wanted to ask him.

He grunted, peering through the large magnifying glass attached to the table. He adjusted it as he said, “I’d recommend you give them a chance, at least, since you’ll be working with them from here on out. Animosity will only hurt you as a team.”

“I didn’t start it.”

“I know.” He walked over to the far side of the room, beside the wall covered with carefully-placed schematics.

Taylor could make out a few of it off the bat; an echolocation transmitter, although smaller than the one in her mind, something that messes with time, though she couldn’t make heads or tails on how it should work, and a metal chip that seemed to monitor heart rates, body language, and neural activity.

She’d gotten a few flashes of inspiration when she first entered the room. In fact, she would have noticed the unmasked Armsmaster earlier if she wasn’t ruminating on the wealth of ideas she got. Not that she could do anything about them in this instant. And besides, she still needed to get that sensor up and running first and foremost, so the newish ideas would have to wait a bit.

“Have you given thought to your name yet?” Armsmaster asked.

Taylor shrugged again. She’d been doing that a lot today.

“I have a few,” she replied.  _Well, less than that now_. Victoria had given her an idea on what name she wanted for herself.

Armsmaster nodded. “Good. You wouldn’t want PR to give you a name.”

“That bad?”

He reached for a tool and started popping the bolts out of her gun.

Taylor gritted her teeth at the sound of it.  _I won’t be using that anyway_.

“Maybe not,” Armsmaster said, continuing to butcher her gun without remorse. “I wouldn’t know. I named myself, and so have the rest of your team.” He looked up. “Except Cobalt and Vermilion.”

Taylor nodded, her gaze returning to the overly large room she had overlooked in favor of the schematics.

She didn’t think his workshop would be this big. She thought she’d recognized a few of the devices around the room, some had duplicates lined up beside each other, some were unfinished, some had that new tech sheen to them. His halberds were hung at one side of the room and took up the most space, a smaller device, with blue plating already welded on, and a few others as well as parts of what looked like his bike.

Not only devices but machines were all over the place. Taylor could recognize a grinder just beside the workbench Colin was working on, an assembly table in the middle of the room, a 3D printer just beside the computer, and more.

 _I_ really _want to get a look at my own workshop_ , Taylor thought as she bit her lip.

Armsmaster murmured something, then stood up and started walking towards Taylor. “Your gun,” he started. He had a look on his face that Taylor couldn’t identify; he was frowning, but he didn’t look upset in the least. “I’d like to keep studying it—if that’s alright with you.”

She didn’t even expect her gun to be returned to her, to be honest. “Um, sure. Why?”

“It has some interesting properties that I’d like to study. Nothing concrete yet, but what’s there is promising.”

_Promising?_

“I-uh-well—s-sure,” she stammered. Not like she could say no to  _Armsmaster_  anyway.

He smiled, making Taylor more than a bit vindicated that she was correct at her initial assumption. He  _did_  look nice, smiling like that. It seemed genuine too, then again, he seemed genuine back at their first meeting as well, and he’d told on her to Annette.

“Why?” she asked before she could stop herself.

Armsmaster’s eyebrows rose. “The properties of your disintegration gun’s effects are very similar to the data we’ve recovered from S—”

Taylor shook her head, and he stopped. They both waited.

_Just ask him. Do it. Just do it._

“Why did you tell my mom?”

Armsmaster's shoulders slumped a bit as he frowned. “You mean when you were injured? I pushed to postpone it—at least until you woke up. The director overrode me and contacted your mother and stepfather while you were still unconscious.”

She said nothing, glaring at the workbench behind Armsmaster. Her gun was definitely dead, its innards were strewn about and its exposed core giving off a steady shine.

“Taylor,” he started, making her snap her eyes towards him. “I told him that move would create resentment, but his biases got the better of him, I suppose.”

“Why do it, then?”

Armsmaster sat down on the bench beside her. “He’s of the opinion that any minor should be in either the Wards or the Initiative. Safer for them that way. Back when Rune triggered, the director pushed for her to be transferred to the Wards but she escaped before he could do anything about it.”

_He’d push for criminals to join a hero team?_

“Either way, it’s not something you should be focusing on.”

“What, then?” she asked, her voice snappy without her meaning to.

“You’re in the Wards now. You have resources, materials, tools.” His lips quirked up. “Despite his faults, the director is very open to ideas— _our_  type of ideas. If you provide a good enough argument, you can make almost any device with his approval. The problem is with the bureaucrats that surround him—ties his hands up a bit, but he does what he can.”

 _Translation: ‘he’s not as bad as you think he is’_.

Taylor stared down at the floor, at her blurry reflection, at the nicks and scratches on the metallic surface, before she nodded.

The appropriate response would have been a shrug instead of a nod, but she really didn’t want to discuss it with Armsmaster. He’d try to be the Devil’s advocate for the director, she knew, and she was already on thin ice with most of her relationships. She didn’t want to push him away too.

“The thing here is that you can make much more of a difference. A group can make a lot of things happen—if you give them a chance.” He stood up. “I suggest you take the opportunity.” He walked towards his monitor and began typing in.

“I… don’t know if I can,” Taylor admitted. He gave off a questioning grunt but didn’t stop what he was doing. “Victoria hates me,” she started, then remembered Dennis’s words, “and the rest… I think they didn’t like how I didn’t unmask to them.”

“I’m sure you had your reasons.”

She wrung her hands, fidgeting. “I-I knew one of them. Well—two, but I only met Dennis once.”

He didn’t turn back as he said, “That’s interesting. The other one’s connected to you, how? Your mother?”

“Stepfather,” she said, picking at the edge of her seat. “His dad’s a friend of Richard.”

He gave her a look. “I can see why you wouldn’t want to unmask.”

Taylor nodded, taking a shaky breath. Hearing him say that made her feel a tiny bit better.

“Were you the same?” she asked.

He stopped typing for a moment and gave her a glance. “No. I didn’t have problems with my initial team. Though, I’d like to think I would have still unmasked, even if I had a less than stellar history with one of them. Heroes like us  _need_ trust.”

“It’s not like I can just trust them outright.”

“Of course. You’ve only just met them.” He was looking up as he said, “It takes a leap of faith, unmasking to strangers.” He paused. “And unwanted acquaintances.”

_‘Unmasking to strangers’… like what you did with me?_

“I’ve—” Her breath got caught in her throat. She swallowed and tried again, “I’ve been burned—not too long ago... by someone I knew for a long time. I don’t know if I  _can_  take that leap of faith.”

He rubbed at his arm as he turned away from her. “Some people are less worthy of trust but the ones who  _are_  make everything worthwhile. Shutting them all out means you won’t be able to see who’s which.”

“One of them reminds me of that person I just talked about.”

“People are hardly the same beneath the surface.”

 _Are they?_ Taylor didn’t voice it.

Another stray thought wandered into her mind:  _How is she doing now?_

The last time Taylor had seen Emma was at the front of her doorstep, coming back just after her mother and Richard dragged her off of Brockton Bay for a couple of weeks. Taylor came back to find Emma with another girl. Likely her replacement? Then Emma shut the door in Taylor’s face. No explanations given.

That was only three months ago and still felt raw on her mind. There was a part of her that wanted to ask just  _why_ , but the thought of her coming back there, back to their home made her stomach flutter. It was ridiculous to think about it. She was practically living there since last year but now she couldn’t stop her hands from turning clammy at the thought of facing them. Alan and Zoe. Emma.

Maybe it was her own fault. Maybe she overstayed her welcome and Emma got tired of her. Or Taylor wasn’t as good as keeping her frustration from leaking when they hung out. She didn’t really know.

Taylor rubbed her forehead as she closed her eyes.

Taking that vial was supposed to be a new start—change things up for her.

In a way, it did. Just not the way she envisioned it at all.

 _Put trust in my teammates_.

Maybe she could try. Just a little. But she couldn’t tell them everything. Most of all how she really got her powers. And she couldn’t just lie either. Not with Gallant in the team. She’d have to decline on sharing that information with them.

Taylor sighed.

She didn’t think she could keep  _that_  up forever.

Armsmaster was retrieving something from one of the drawers under his workbench as Taylor spoke, “Um, Armsmaster?”

“Colin.”

“How- _wah?_ ” she started but the words died in her throat. So uncool.  _Be professional, Taylor. He unmasked; it should have been obvious he would give his name as well_. “How-how do you do it?”

He was already putting a welding mask on, but he stopped. “Do what?”

“Keep going. I don’t know if I want to be a hero forever. I mean, it’s good and all, but maybe I’ll want to settle down. I dunno _._ ”

He looked up, thinking. “I have… high goals set for myself. I intend to reach them. And it’s not something I can just leave half-cooked.” He paused, regarding her. “I think it boils down to knowing what you want.”

“I  _do_  know what I want,” Taylor replied.

“So, tell me.”

Taylor’s hand fidgeted. “I—I want to stop bad things from happening—to good people. My dad, he—I want to stop others from hurting people.”

He leaned back, crossing his arms. “I think it’s admirable, but a bit naïve. You won’t be able to stop everything. Believe me, you’ll burn out, trying to help out everyone that needs it.”

“I’m not saying I’ll stop it completely. Just that I want to help wherever I can.”

Colin nodded. “Good. New or not, you’re still my responsibility. And I’d hate to see a Tinker like you burn out over this.”

‘ _Burn out’?_  It sounded like he was speaking from personal experience.

“Either way, you’re still young. You’ve got four years to think about it—what you want to do with your life.”

“Okay,” Taylor said, the answer dawning on her. She needed to get back ASAP. “Thank you. I’ll—uh, I’ll get going.”

Colin grunted as he continued working. He didn't even turn as Taylor opened the door and got out into the hallway. The sounds of Colin using the torch to open her gun further was cut off when the blast door closed shut.

 _Leap of faith,_  she thought as she moved along the hall, biting her lip. Maybe she can. A bit. Assuming they’re still there.

Did she have to say sorry too? She didn’t think she’d done anything wrong.

She moved sideways to swivel around office workers and PRT troopers, only tracking them by their feet. None bothered her as she boarded the elevator, keeping to themselves but were casting her looks out of the corner of her eye. She got off as quickly as she could, on to the floor of the Wards HQ.

The door at the end of the hallway seemed to stretch farther back, making it look like it was a longer walk than it ought to be. Slowly, she moved. Well, not slowly, but her entire body felt like it was underwater.

She was aware of how much her heart was beating in her chest. Of how loud her footsteps echoed as her feet dragged her towards the Wards’ lobby.

 _You can do this_.

When she entered, they were still there, talking amongst themselves. Crystal was nowhere to be seen.

Dean noticed her first, and their entire conversation stopped. Victoria started to move, but Dean stopped her, speaking to her in a low voice. She sighed and crossed her arms as she waited with the rest of them.

 _You can do this_.  _You can do this_ , Taylor chanted to herself as her legs brought her closer to the group. Heart pounding and hands clenched, she thought about how to start the conversation. Break the ice. Imagining how to deliver it. Stuff like that.

Every iteration ended with every one of them looking at her weird and dismissing her.

 _Stop thinking_ , she commanded herself.

“Hey. I guess,” Dennis greeted. He was wearing an unbuttoned green shirt over a T-shirt and jeans now. Dean beside him was wearing a long-sleeved V-neck shirt and was still peering at Taylor. “You need something?” Dennis asked as Taylor reached them.

“I-I’m sorry. About before,” she started. Every single one of them was staring at her, waiting. Maybe judging. “I thought about it some more—unmasking, I mean. I-I was surprised. Well, more than. I-I-I didn’t expect some of you here to be here. You know what I mean? And it got me all nervous and I—”

 _Stop blabbing, you idiot, and get to the point_ , she told herself.

The others only looked confused, but they didn’t ask any questions. Dean looked surprised. Did he figure it out? Well, no matter.

Taylor slid her helmet off.

“H-hi. I’m—”

“ _Taylor?_ ” Dennis and Dean said at the same time. They looked at each other, then all the Wards turned towards her.

 _Shit_.  _Crap_.  _I hope I haven’t made a mistake with this._

Missy looked between the three of them, her brow raised as she said, “I  _feel_  like we should sit this one down.”

“Yeah,” Taylor replied, feeling lightheaded. “Lets.”

They all started to move, all except for one.

Dennis turned around. “Coming, Vic?”

Victoria was staring at Taylor, her golden swords running around the air. Taylor stared back, her mouth set in a line, but she could almost  _hear_  the pounding in her ears as blood rushed into her head.

Brown met blue, and neither seemed ready to back off.

 _‘Why are you hesitating now?’_  Taylor wanted to ask.

Eventually, Victoria’s swords slowed their twirling as she sighed. “Sure,” she said, giving Dean a look.

Taylor felt the knot in her shoulder disappear as they shuffled towards the seats. Instead, the knot relocated into her stomach. Shit. Fuck. They were all looking at her, expectant. Waiting for answers.

Missy and Victoria looked impassive. Or their expressions were unreadable enough to seem impassive. Dennis looked at her warily, arms crossed in front of him. She didn’t think their conversation back at the hospital was negative for the most part... Was he still upset about her unmasking?

And Dean. He looked like something just clicked in for him

Taylor resisted the urge to rub her palms at her legs.  _It’s not what you think it is_ , she told herself.  _Probably_.

“So,” Missy said, leaning forward, “how did you three know each other, exactly?”

Taylor, Dean, and Dennis glanced at each other, waiting.

 _Leap of faith_ ,  _right?_

She took a breath and started to explain by saying, “It’s like this…”


End file.
